


Love is a Losing Hand

by Nejinee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Coming of Age, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Incomplete, M/M, Multi, Romance, Roommates, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-02-18 19:32:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 57,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2359691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nejinee/pseuds/Nejinee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of a young boy who grew into a man who always fought tooth and nail for everyone else's happiness, but never his own. So when years later, his biggest regret comes back into his life, what else can he do but learn from his mistakes? Surely after a lifetime of denying himself what he really wanted, even Dean Winchester deserves a second chance at happiness?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome!  
> This story is something I'd been waiting for someone to write, until I realized, "Hey, maybe I should write it?"
> 
> The boys' ages change as the chapters progress.
> 
> Tags will be added to the story as it progresses.  
> 

**Dean: Age 11 -  Sam: Age 7**

* * *

 

 

“Come on, Dean!” Sam cried out, running ahead in glee. “Before the sun goes down!”

 

“Aw, come on, Sam,” the older Winchester grumbled, following along. “Why do you even wanna go to the park? Only babies play on the swings, you know.”

Sam turned, still walking backwards, his sneakered feet swimming in his slightly-too-big shoes. His grin was wide as the wind ruffled his bangs.

“I love the park! We never get to go. Plus, you _promised_.”

Dean scowled and followed his brother over the grassy ridge that bordered the main road and the quiet park nestled between the quiet houses. At least it was a bright day, late in the summer. Come Monday, they’d be back in school, which only made Dean more annoyed. Sam, on the other hand was practically bursting at the seams about that news. Dean could barely get any rest from the relentless “I’m going into first grade! _First Grade!_ ” screams his little brother kept wailing at every opportunity. Sure, it was kinda cute, the little nerd wanting to get all educated and whatever, but it was never a high point in Dean’s year, going back to Lawrence elementary.

 

Sam almost _popped_ when he went shopping with Ellen for school supplies. Ugh.

 

“Hold up,” Dean said, watching his brother dash across the neatly trimmed grass, towards the playground. “Sheesh, kid,” he muttered, watching Sam stumble over the sandy area, eager to latch onto a free swing.

The park, thankfully, wasn’t crowded with parents and their brats. Naw, it was too late for that.

Dean walked up to the big jungle jim, keeping an eye on his twiggy brother.

“Dean!” Sam cried out as he clambered into one of the old rubber tire swings, unchanged after all these years. “Gimme a push! I wanna swing high!”

Dean sighed. “Come on, Sammy, really? I’m tired.”

And there it was, the Sam-sam pout face. Lord knows nothing could melt Dean like that pitiful puppy dog look.

“Oh, all right!” Dean groused. 

At least stuff like this made Sam happy. It was better they hung out outside anyway. Most of the summer had gone much the same. Dean wandered the town endlessly, his pint-sized shadow following him eagerly, chattering and laughing and messing about while Dad … well, Dad wasn’t bothered. At least they didn’t have to worry about being home yet; not until full sundown. 

 

Dean got behind Sam, feet sinking into the sand. He tugged the swing back, Sam’s feet kicking eagerly. “Y’know, one day you’ll actually be able to touch the floor with those piddly legs of yours. One day.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said breathily as Dean pulled him high and back. “Come on, Dean!”

“Ready, fatso?” Dean asked, grinning in spite of himself. Grunting, he gave a mighty push.

“Eeeee!” Sam wailed, arms flung out as he rocketed away. Dean smirked, ready for the swing’s return. He gave another big push and Sam swung out further, his momentum carrying him higher.

“There you go,” Dean said, watching Sam’s scrawny legs wiggle. The kid was much better at this now. He could swing himself, tugging on the heavy chains and leaning way back for more of a swing-back.

Sam cackled gleefully, clearly enjoying himself.

 

Dean stepped out of the sandy pit and walked round. He couldn’t help laughing at the sheer happiness blossoming across his baby brother’s face. _Simple things, huh?_

 

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d even been on a swing. As far back as he could recall, it was always him looking after Sam anyhow. Now that the munchkin was heading for ‘big boy’ school, it would make life easier on Dean. 

 

He hated coming home to find Sam sitting on his bunk, head buried in a picture book. Some days were just not that much fun. Some days, Dad was home and most of those days were filled with quiet annoyance, or cold words.

 

It’s not that their dad was mean or anything, he just … wasn’t interested. Dean figured work was tough, so Dad needed the quiet; and when he wasn’t at work, well, he’d be doing grown-up stuff. Bills and food or whatever. Good thing Bobby and Ellen visited. Ellen sometimes brought Jo over. Annoying as the blonde tomboy was, at least she knew how to play Highway Patrol. They spent a lot of time trading Hot Wheels and playing Uno when she visited. Jo was a year younger than Dean and _boy_ was she a yak-box. Bobby used to say the girl could talk the hind leg off a donkey, whatever that meant. Dean figured Jo didn’t have many friends anyway. He sometimes saw her at school, but she was with the young kids, so Dean didn’t pay her much attention.

 

Dean’s friends weren’t around much during the Summer. Some of them had family holidays, or relatives visiting. Victor got to go to Disneyland, which sounded wicked cool.

 

Then again, most of them had big families. Most of them had parents that worked in the city, had two cars, a dog and a cat. Stuff like that.

Dean had Sam and Dad and their little house on the edge of the suburb. It was a nice area, at least. Dean hadn’t known much outside of it, but it was home.

 

“Dean, help me out!” 

The older Winchester blinked, coming back to the real world. He rolled his eyes when he saw Sam trying desperately to climb out of the still-swinging rubber tire. His one knee was tight against his chest, the other still hanging through the leg-hole. 

“You big doofus,” he sighed. “I keep tellin’ you, pull with your arms. Like He-man.” He made a loud _Rawr_ sound as he hoisted the wriggling kid up and out. “Like that.”

“Psh!” Sam huffed, tugging his shorts up. He looked up though, excitement blooming on his features.

“Hey guys!” Sam jumped up and down, all one-foot-nothin’ of him. He waved his arm wildly. Dean frowned and looked up, squinting through the harsh late afternoon sun.

Two kids were on the perimeter of the playground, walking along by the benches where parents usually sat and gossiped.

 

“Sam,” Dean hissed.

 

They were older than Sam. Dean squinted some more. Probably went to Dean’s school.

One looked vaguely familiar.

“Hi Castiel! Hi Gabe!” Sam continued waving before shooting towards them.

“Oi!” Dean reacted fast, yanking at Sam’s t-shirt. “hold up, poop-for-brains. Who the heck are they?”

Sam tugged at Dean so Dean acquiesced awkwardly.

The two guys had paused.

When Sam ran up to them, both boys smiled. Dean was unsure from the get-go. He definitely recognized the one on the right. He had floppy light-brown hair and a know-it-all smirk. Yeah, he went to Dean’s school for sure. In the class above.

“Hello Sam,” the other boy said, voice calm. Now this dude, Dean did not know. Why was he so chummy with Sam?

“Hey squirt,” the other one said, sipping on a juice box. “High five.”

Sam jumped to smack his hand at the floppy-hair guy’s raised palm.

“Who are you?” Dean said abruptly. Seriously, who were these losers, being all chummy with his seven-year old brother?

“This is my big brother, Dean,” Sam said, distractedly tugging on Dean’s wrist while simultaneously talking to the other boys. “This is Gabe,” he pointed at the brunette. “and this is Cast- _eee_ -yel.” 

Dean frowned at the other boy. This one had messy dark hair and he didn’t blink much. Weird.

“Cast a what now?” Dean said.

“Cas-teee-yell!” Sam cried out. “He has a cool name, huh, Dean?”

The Gabe guy smirked. “Baby brothers, aren’t they adorable?” he looked Dean over. “You’re in Miss Jennings class, aren’t you? Seen you round.”

Dean blinked. “Uh, yeah. I was.”

“Winchester, like Sam?”

“Yeah. Obviously. You?”

“Novak.” The kid said it like it was super awesome or something. “You on the baseball team?” Gabe asked.

 

“No,” Dean answered. “Why?”

“You should be on baseball, Dean!” Sam said, jumping up and down. “Yeah! Then me and Dad and Bobby could come watch you play.”

“Uh, calm down, Sammy. I ain't joining no baseball team. Also, totally not the point. How do you know these guys?”

Sure, maybe Dean didn’t have to be so rude, but seriously, who were these dudes? And why was the dark-haired one just staring like that?

“You have something to say?” Dean asked bluntly.

This Castee-whatever just blinked. “No.”

“K, then quit with the staring. You’re creepin’ me out.”

“Yeah, he does that,” Gabe laughed, elbowing the other kid. “Real chatterbox, is Cas.”

“Dean,” Sam said in a loud whisper which was in no way secretive. “You don’t want to mess with Castiel. He could _totally_ kick your butt!”

Dean’s eyebrows rose. “Yeah, right.” Dean had been in enough scuffles by now to know how to fight. Sure, he’d gotten a bunch of bruises and scrapes, but looking at this kid? No big deal. Dean could take him.

“No, really. Cas has his blue belt!”

Dean blinked.

“I only got my yellow, remember? It was hard.” Sam’s tiny face looked determined.

 

Dean looked up, finally comprehending. “Oooh, you guys go to karate too?” That made more sense. “Okay, I see now.”

“You betcha,” Gabe said, snapping his fingers. “Been training with the little kids, haven’t we, Cas?”

“Hey, I’m not little!” Sam pouted.

Dean smirked at the pouty face. He caught Castiel’s eye and the other boy was smiling too.

“You’re very good at karate,” Castiel said, all calm and quiet. What an unassuming kid.

“I’ll be even better!” Sam said, swinging a kick up high like in a ninja movie.

“Whoa, whoa,” Gabe said, backing away theatrically. “don’t kick my butt, shortstack.”

“Pow-pow!” Sam yelled, tiny fists pumping.

Gabe laughed, arms up and Dean smirked in spite of himself. Damn, his kid brother could charm anyone.

Dean watched them play-fight, Gabe’s arms blocking Sam’s pitiful attempts at punching.  Dean shifted awkwardly. He didn’t know these two. It was weird, seeing kids from his school.

“So you’re the big brother he’s always talking about, huh?” Gabe said, sucking on his juice box straw. “Rambo-Sambo over here never shuts up about you.”

“He did mention once that his big brother could beat the snot out of all the bad guys in the whole world, once,” Castiel said. Dean blinked as the guy stared at him.

“Uh,” Dean mumbled. “Well, you know, little kids.”

“All baby bros idolize their big brothers don’t they?” Gabe smirked and ruffled Castiel’s hair.

The other boy leaned away with a scowl. “Stop that,” he muttered. “No one would ever idolize you. You’re only twelve.”

“Going on thirteen, baby bro. Teenager _in da house_.”

Huh. So they were brothers. Weird. They didn’t look related. Not like Sammy and him.

 

Castiel just shifted before turning back to Sam. “Have you had a good summer so far?”

Damn, but didn’t he sound genuine too? While Sam prattled on about the bird he found in the garage and the busted skateboard Bobby promised to fix up for him, this Cas guy didn’t waver once in his attention. Dude seemed genuinely interested in what a seven year-old had to say.

“-and Dean said he’d help me organize my pencils tonight! We got matching pencil cases and everything. I didn’t get a new backpack, but Dean said I could have his old one, which is cool because it has Batma-“

“Okay, Sam, be quiet!” Dean cut him off, feeling himself blush. Wow, embarrassing.

Gabe smirked and sucked loudly on his pretty empty juice box.

Sam pouted up at Dean.

“Okay, okay, enough, Sammy,” Dean said. “You still wanna play here or head back for dinner?’

“No! Play more!” And Sam spun about, dashing back towards the swingset.

Dean shook his head. _What a meatball_.

“Guess we’ll see you round, _Dean_ ,” Gabe said nonchalantly with a flimsy wave.

“It was nice to meet you,” Castiel said, eyes so friggin’ blue it was freakin’ Dean out.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Dean mumbled. What a strange guy.

“Bye Gabe! Bye Cas-teeeee-yellll!” Sam all but bellowed from where he’d clambered over those tire seat things embedded in the sand. “See you at karate!”

Dean helped Sam climb the jungle jim while the other two boys walked away, the late sun throwing long shadows behind them.

Sam would eventually be the one to remind Dean, years later, that that was the first time he’d met the Novak brothers. Dean would argue about that, saying no, they met at school or at a party, but it was true. He probably would have remembered if he’d known in advance just how important that meeting would be.

 

—-***—-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rest assured I will be updating this at least once a week as I have it all plotted out (for once). Any feedback is welcomed. :)


	2. Chapter 2

3 years later

** Dean: age 14 - Sam: age 10 **

 

—

 

“You got your stuff ready for school?” John Winchester asked from his place at the sink. Dean turned, plate and drying cloth in hand as he watched his little brother stumble with an armful of too many knives and forks.

“Careful,” he said with a laugh. “Don’t trip and poke your brains out.”

“Dean, I’m speaking,” John said, looking down at his oldest son. “Sam?”

Sam carefully placed the cutlery on the kitchen table. “Yes,  _Dad_. I got my bag packed and everything.” He began to studiously separate and organize the mass of cutlery, prepping them for re-insertion into the cutlery drawer. Sam liked the fact that they had a completely mismatching pile of knives and forks, each picked up from somewhere, but never from the same set. He had said that his friends all had matching forks and stuff, from like store-bought collections.

“Okay, good,” John said, tugging at the plug in the sink. The soapy water gurgled loudly and began to drain. “I gotta be out early, so make sure you get up in time tomorrow morning to make your lunch. Right, Dean?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean responded, putting a dry dish back into the cupboard.

“We got raspberry jam, right?” Sam piped up.

“Sorry, bucko, they only had strawberry this time,” John said with a resigned sigh. “You know how the store can be.”

Yeah, Dean knew. Dad always shopped at the discount market on the other side of town. It was loads cheaper but didn’t have much of a selection, so sometimes he and Sam had to make do with stuff like crunchy peanut butter and five-packs of white undies from the sale rack.

Sam twisted his mouth to the side, “Okay.”

Then his eyes lit up. “Oh, I forgot to say. Sensei said I’m doing really well. My next grading’s coming up on Saturday. Are you gonna come watch? Dean said he will.”

Dean hefted a fresh load of plates up into the cupboard.

“I don’t know, Sam,” John said slowly. This made Dean turn. He knew that tone. 

“I’m pretty sure I can get my orange belt this time.” Sam continued. “Sensei says I need to work on my patience, though. Says it’s not all about style or speed.”

“Sam,” John turned, “How much longer do you have with this karate session?”

Sam blinked. “Um, I think until next month? Then I can sign up for another year.”

John rubbed at his jaw. Dean could hear the scritchy skin-on-stubble sound as his father carefully chose his next words. “Listen, champ, I don’t think we can put you in another year of karate. Maybe, maybe give it a break for a while?”

Dean swallowed, knowing immediately what look he’d find on Sam’s face. His little brother's eyes were wide, surprised. “What? Why? Dad, I love karate.”

John leaned against the sink, palms pressing against the counter behind him, fingers gripping the edge. “I know, Sam, I know. Times are just a little hard right now. I don’t think we can spare the money.”

“But, Dad–“ Oh God, Sam’s eyes were welling up. Dean swallowed and fisted his hands in the drying cloth. Sammy was never any good at reigning it in.

“I’m sorry, kid,” John sighed, “I just can’t justify it right now. You know I’m still working odd jobs. It’s not a good time. Dean’s not even taking any sports this year, so you know, you’ve been kind of lucky.”

_God, don’t start comparing him to me_ , Dean thought irately. John only ever did that when trying to convince Sammy of how freakin’ obedient Dean was all the time. The loyal eldest son who never asked for anything, just did what he was told. Nevermind the fact Dean didn’t ask for stuff because he knew what the answer would be.

“Yeah but Dean doesn’t–“ Sam’s voice was all weepy now and it made Dean’s stomach ache.

“Sam,” John’s voice was hard, final.

And Sam looked down, clearly crestfallen. He snuffled.

“Maybe, uh, maybe I can talk to Bobby–“ Dean started, looking for a way to help the situation. sometimes Bobby would let him help down at the salvage yard, cleaning up and stuff. He didn’t pay much, more of an allowance than anything, but if he could save up…

“Dean, this has nothing to do with Bobby,” John said sharply. “This is not his problem.”

Dean blinked, “Yeah, but if I can–“

“Are you listening to me?” John’s voice was louder now. “We do not ask for money in this family. We work for it. We earn it. I’m your father, it’s my job.”

He stared his son down and Dean swallowed, looking away. It didn’t seem to matter that John hadn’t even waited to hear what Dean was suggesting. That Dean was trying to help, that Dean would work it out. “Yes, sir.”

“Now you two go get washed up and ready for bed. I don’t want to hear any more about this.”

 

—-***—-

 

“Why I gotta give up karate, Dean?” Sam said miserably from his bunk, voice barely more than a sniffle.

It was dark and the window was open, letting in some of the cooler night air.

“I dunno,” Dean said, staring at the ceiling. “If Dad can’t pay, well, you just can’t go. Right?”

“But I wanna go,” Sam said.

“It’s not that simple, buddy,” Dean sighed. “We can’t be the bosses.”

“One day I’ll be the grown-up,” Sam said through a clearly stuffed-up nose. “And I’ll pay for my own karate.”

“Hey,” Dean said softly. “Maybe just for a while you give up karate? We can figure out how to get some cash. I’ll help you.”

Dean could hear Sam shifting. “Y-you mean that?” He sounded so small.

“Of course, doofus. You know I mean everything I say.”

Sam sniffed. “Okay.” he said quietly.

“Good. Deal,” Dean sighed. 

 

—-***—-

 

On Saturday Dean found himself in Sam’s karate dojo, settling in beside the other mothers and fathers at the sidelines. John hadn’t made it. He never did, really. It was always Dean taking Sam to school, Dean walking Sam to karate and eventually, Dean watching Sam show off.

The little guy looked like such a dork, it made Dean smile.

Sam was still despondent about having to give up karate, but he pulled himself together. He was a big kid.

Dean sat cross-legged on the floor, watching the other karate kids mill about. Some of them were  _tiny_ , surely still in diapers? If he was honest, watching runts kicking and swinging in synchronicity wasn’t too bad a way to spend his Saturday morning.

Sam was across the hall, talking to some other kids. He seemed to have made quite a few friends, which was good.

When it was Sam’s turn, Dean sat up straighter.

The room was silent as the kids moved through their training. Sam’s white karate uniform was large on him, his yellow belt bright. Dean couldn’t help smiling. Sam had done so well over the years. He was much better now, more fluid, more concentrated. He yelled and yipped when he was supposed to and didn’t once seem distracted. Dean was sure he’d get his orange belt this time. Some of the younger kids had other colours, even brown belts (which sounded insane). But then it took Sam a little longer to learn patience and concentration. He was a studious kid, even if a bit jumpy.

When they were done, Dean couldn’t help clapping and whistling. If it was considered rude, he didn’t care. Not like anyone here knew him.

Sam rushed off to the side as more kids filled the mats.

Other grading would be happening. Usually Dean didn’t hang about to watch, but someone caught his eye.

Castiel was waiting across the room, his brother talking beside him.

Both were in their own karate gi, a few sizes up from Sam’s.

Weird. He kept forgetting those guys were here. He never saw them.

This whole karate thing was a bit beyond Dean, but he paid attention for Sam’s sake. Dean fancied the idea of himself getting into something more like kick-boxing, or wrestling. Yeah. Not that Dad would allow that. Dean didn’t have time for it.

Sam was waving at Dean and the older Winchester gave him a thumbs-up.

Dean was about to get up and go fetch his brother when the room settled. Crap, he’d missed his moment. Now he had to sit through another round of grading he had no interest in seeing.

“Damn,” he hissed as the much older students lined up in rows across the mats. Castiel and Gabe were separated by another kid. Dean couldn’t help watching Castiel, though. The guy seemed made for this.

His expression was cold and pretty bland. Once they all started moving, Dean couldn’t look away. The guy was super fluid, really composed. Wow, not bad. Even for a non-karate loser like Dean, he could tell Castiel was good. 

This grading was much longer, involved a helluva lot more yells and feet slapping and sliding against the blue mats.

When they were done, the students bowed to the sensei.

Very cool.

Dean looked around at the parents clapping, wondering if the Novak’s had parents cheering them on.

Ah, who cared?

Dean winced as he clambered to his feet.

He marched around the perimeter, eager to grab Sam and get going.

Typical, Sam was talking up a storm with none other than the two Novak brothers. By the flailing arms, Dean could only guess his little bro was praising their performance. Gabe was smirking, but Castiel was listening intently, clearly okay with listening to a ten year old babble on and on.

Dean didn’t really want to talk to them, so he waited. Sure, they were around the same age and went to the same school, but they were not buddies. Dean didn’t even know what part of town they lived in, so he never saw them anyway. Gabe was alright. Dean sometimes got a wave from him in the hallways. Castiel was … okay. Sam still talked about how cool he was, which was kinda annoying.

Dean watched as Gabe wandered off, drawn away by some girl. Weird to see chicks here too.

Dean wondered quite often if most of them could kick his ass. Probably.

Castiel was still listening to Sam, their conversation more muted now. Cas said something. Sam just shrugged.

Okay, Dean didn’t want to waste any more time. He squeezed his way over.

“Oi,” he swatted at Sam’s hair. “We gotta go.”

Sam turned and smiled. “Oh, yeah. Did you watch me, Dean?”

Dean rolled his eyes dramatically, “No, I came all the way out here on a Saturday morning to  _not_  watch you kick butt out there.”

Sam grinned wide. “You think I did okay?”

“Kid,” Dean said, throwing an arm around his little brother, “You were awesome. If they don’t give you a belt, I’ll make you one myself.”

He looked up only to find Castiel watching him. Dean shifted.

“Uh, well, we gotta go.”

“Okay,” Sam looked about for his belongings and Dean dangled his backpack. Sam snatched it. He turned to wave as they headed for the door. “Bye, Cas! And thanks!”

Dean avoided looking at him again. Awkward.

When he made it outside with Sam, he breathed in the refreshing morning air.

“You, uh, you still talk to that guy, huh?”

Sam blinked, “Who? Cas? Yeah. Why?”

Dean shrugged. “I dunno. He’s weird.”

Sam made a face and pushed Dean. “He’s really nice, Dean. He helped me train. He’s really good at karate, you know.”

“So what?”

Sam just rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Dean. Let’s go get lunch. I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, I bet, you bottomless pit.”

 

—-***—-

 

A week later, Sam came wandering into their house, a frown crossing his features. In his hand he held the mail.

“Took your sweet time,” Dean groused. “What, did a tornado grab you and throw you half way across town?”

“Dean, leave your bother alone,” John rumbled from the living room sofa, where he sat reading the paper. Dean chewed his beef jerky extra loud so Sam would look up, disgusted.

Dean followed his brother into their tiny kitchen. Sam dropped the pile of envelopes onto the table, keeping one in his hand.

“What’s that?” Dean asked, curious. “Not another scholastic book fair thing again, you nerd?”

“It’s for me,” Sam said, cocking his head to the side. “Look.”

And so it was. Dean continued to chew his snack, mouth working as he took in the handwritten name and address. “So, you got a pen pal?”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

Dean shrugged. Weirder things could happen.

Sam opened up the  envelope, pulling out a folded set of papers.

Dean watched as confusion flitted across his little brother’s face.

“What? Can’t read or somethin’?” Dean cracked.

“I dunno,” Sam said. “I think it’s a bill?”

Dean blinked. “Huh? What? For you? You’re a kid. What are you buying?”

“It’s for karate, I think,” Sam said, handing over the sheets to Dean. 

It was one of those printed papers with the dojo’s logo and address at the top, another small piece of till paper was stapled to one corner. Dean frowned and looked it over.

They shouldn’t be owing anything. Dad said they always paid upfront. God, they really didn’t have the money for this…

_What the?_

“Sammy, this ain’t a bill,” Dean said, scanning the sheet for more info. 

“What is it?” Sam peered over.

“It’s a receipt. For payment. Says here you have another twelve month membership for karate, paid in cash. Doesn’t say from who, though.”

Sam’s face couldn’t possibly have lit up any brighter.

“ _Dean?_  Did you-?” Sam breathed.

Dean blinked, “What? No. No way, man, I definitely do not have this kinda cash right now. Jeez.”

“Hey, Dad,” Dean yelled, “come check this out.”

Sam was all but bursting.

“Dad! Look, look! I get to go to karate!”

John Winchester came into the kitchen. He looked like he definitely hadn’t heard that right.

“Seriously,” Dean said, eyebrows high. John’s face explained, at least to Dean, that this had not come from their father. “Check it out.” He handed over the papers.

John looked them over, brow furrowed. “What? How did-? Dean did you have something to do with this?” John’s face was dark.

“No,” Dean shook his head. 

“Someone got me a membership?” Sam all but squealed. “Who do you think it was?”

John slammed his hand down on the table, making his boys jump.

“Nosy old bastard,” John breathed. “I bet he-“

“Who?” Sam breathed, confused.

John looked at Dean, staring at his son. “I swear, Dean, you’d better have had nothing to do with this. I told you before, we  _are not_  a charity case.”

Dean blinked. “Dad, I didn’t do anything.”

“Then where did this come from?” John barked.

Sam blinked, eyes wide. Dean had to hold his tongue. “I don’t know.”

“Who the hell has the damn right to pay for  _my son’s_ things? We are not a damn  _lost cause_! This is unbelievable!” 

“But, Dad–“ Sam said and Dean shot him a look.  _Don’t. Don’t speak, Sammy._

John looked about ready to tear his hair out. 

“I said I’d figure it out,” John sighed, closing his eyes. “God damnit.”

Dean swallowed. His stomach roiled. John shouldn’t be freaking out about this.

“So what if someone wanted to be nice?” Sam said. “What’s wrong with that, Dad?”

“This,” John held up the sheets of paper like they were a death sentence. “This isn’t  _nice_ , Sam. This is pity. This is what happens when other people can’t keep their damn noses out of our family business.”

“But-“ Sam started.

“No buts!” John barked. “You are  _not_  accepting this. Take it back to the dojo tomorrow and tell them to refund whoever did it.”

Dean felt his face heat up.  _Seriously_? “It was paid in cash, Dad. No one’s gonna take back the money and the dojo’s not-“

“Shut it, boy,” John snapped. “and do what I say.”

Dean clenched his jaw. “Just because  _you’re_  ashamed doesn’t mean Sammy has to suffer. So what if someone wanted to get Sam more classes? Maybe it was his sensei? Maybe it’s like a gift certificate from the dojo? Who knows, Dad? I don’t see why Sammy has to give it back. If whoever sent this doesn’t want to own up to it, then  _who cares_? It’s for Sam, not for you.”

John just gaped back at him and Dean swallowed. Sam stood beside Dean, unsure.

John looked like he was about to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he eyed Dean, then Sam, probably wondering what he’d done to have his boys gang up on him like this.

“You watch your tone,” He said gravely.

Dean stood his ground. This shouldn’t be such a big deal, for crying out loud.

They stared at one another a moment longer, before John clenched his jaw and looked away.

Then it was settled.

And with that, John threw the sheets across the table, wrinkled from where he’d clutched them,  and stomped out.

Sam breathed out in a whoosh. Dean sat down shakily. 

All this for some damn good deed.

 

—-***—-


	3. Chapter 3

** 2 years later. **

Dean: age 16     -      Sam: age 12

 

—

 

Dean was sitting outside on the hood of his Dad’s Impala, staring at the night sky, wishing everything would just _stop_. Why couldn’t life just be simple for once? Why couldn’t he have it plain and easy, like the other kids?

He’d meant to finish up his homework, knowing he had a test in the morning, but it just wasn’t going to happen. Not when his brain felt like it was going to burn out at any second.

He could still hear pots and pans slamming distantly through the kitchen window. They were at Bobby’s house on the outskirts of town. At least Bobby had more land, open field and dirt track property separating them from any neighbours. 

The Impala felt cold beneath his hands. Across the scrubby lot Dean could see the truck. John’s truck, for God’s sake. His Dad was driving a damn truck now and it made Dean sick every time he looked at it. It meant more than just a job for John, it meant time on the road. Time away from his sons. Time to escape the reality of being a damn father and caretaker.

“Fucking bullshit,” Dean hissed. Maybe he’d sneak a beer outta Bobby’s fridge. Nobody ever noticed.

 

“Dean?”

 

The older Winchester turned, spotting a familiar silhouette in the darkness.

“Hey, Sammy,” he said softly, patting the hood beside him.

His gangly younger brother came closer, hoody pulled tight against his neck, hands shoved into its pockets.

Sam was getting taller every day, it seemed. Pretty soon, he’d be eye level with Dean. 

“Bobby says dinner’ll be a while,” Sam said.

“Yeah, I bet,” Dean sighed. He looked his brother over as the other boy climbed onto the hood.

“Dad gone?” he said.

“Gone to get firewood for the barbecue,” Sam said softly. 

Dean nodded. “‘course.”

“Says he’ll be staying over though,” Sam added.

Yeah, but for how long this time?

 

—-***—-

 

“This is total bullshit,” Dean hissed.

“You watch your mouth with me, boy,” Bobby said gravely, hands leaning on the back of the kitchen chair.

Sam was sitting at the table, eyes focused on his hands.

“So, what? He’s just going? Again? He just got back.”

Dean’s hands were shaking. He was so pissed, it made him want to tear his hair out.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Dean.” Bobby said, “Your Dad’s gotta work.”

“Yeah, but why this? Why trucking? Why not working down at the garage? Merle says he’d take him in.”

“Trucking pays well,” Bobby answered. “You know that. Your Dad’s just trying to help you boys-”

“Like hell he is,” Dean snapped. “He’s been running, Bobby. Running for years. It’s only now he knows how to do it with a damn excuse.”

“Don’t be talking about him like that,” Bobby said, trying to calm himself. “He’s your father.”

“And don’t I know it,” Dean hissed, fists clenching. “Can’t even tell us to our faces.”

Bobby was silent. Sam stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor.

“Sammy–,” Dean began.

“Leave me alone, Dean,” Sam said quietly, heading towards the stairwell. “I’m tired of the yelling.”

 

—-***—-

 

School was at least mind-numbing. Sure, Dean was pretty damn certain he was failing math, but then what was new? Just a couple more years and he’d be done with this shit. He could pick up more hours at the garage, make just a bit more cash.

“Winchester!” 

Dean looked up from his seat where he lounged, waiting for Miss Perkins to show up.

“Ash, dude,” he greeted his friend. 

“Tell me you’re still on for tonight? Jo says she’s in.”

“Jo’s always in,” Dean snorted. “gotta get that girl a boyfriend, goddamn.”

“Independent woman like her? _Please_ ,” Ash said, sliding into the seat beside Dean. The two boys laughed. “You know she ain’t got eyes for anyone but you.”

“Urgh,” that always made Dean uncomfortable. This thing with Jo was awkward, so the less they spoke about it, the better.

“Hey, at least _someone_ likes you, Uggo,” Bela Talbot said, swanning by with a smirk.

“Shut your piehole,” Dean hissed, not missing the way her legs folded neatly underneath her desk. Bela was trouble with a capital T. He’d already been down that road, twice, and lived to regret it. Girls like Bela were like life lessons in short skirts.

Miss Perkins finally showed up and the last of the students filtered in.

At least tonight would keep him distracted. Lisa had agreed to go to a movie, even if Jo and Ash insisted on tagging along. This thing with Lisa … it was kinda great. He’d pretty much been awestruck by her since the moment she arrived in Lawrence. Really, any guy with eyeballs would have been. Took him damn near a year to work up the nerve to ask her out. And she had, for some crazy insane reason, agreed. 

She surprised him, too. She wasn’t one of those vapid girls who talked about their exes or celebrity gossip all the time. She was really sweet and smart and Dean wondered what the hell happened in his previous life to have her agreeing to spend time with him. Their first date had been pretty normal. Carnival had been in town, one of those traveling types. The ones with the corn dogs and the candy floss and the real jittery, rusted up rides that made Dean kind of sweaty and sick. The haunted house thing had been great too. Girls were so predictable.

Not like when he’d taken Sammy last year. That kid was unshakeable. Made Dean proud.

Dean blinked, coming back down to the reality of his current education. Boring. School was tedious and time-consuming. Dean hardly saw the point in going. His attendance was spotty at best, but Bobby had already read him the riot act. Just get through it, the man had drilled into him. ‘These were the best days of his life. He had nothing to worry about, not yet.’ Yadda-yadda-yadda.

 

Yeah right.

 

He looked around the room at his fellow classmates; some already taking notes, others doodling instead. The door opened quietly and Dean looked up. Castiel slunk into the room, gazed around, then settled into the seat closest to the door. Dean didn’t have many classes with the guy, so it was always weird to see him. No one ever paid him much attention, quiet as he was.

Not that he needed the attention. The Novak name was known well enough thanks to his ridiculous older brother who’d made a reputation for himself already. Tough act to follow.

Castiel looked rumpled as ever, his hair in complete disarray, his blue t-shirt wrinkled and probably slept-in. Weird kid.

While the teacher droned on and on about group projects and exams, Dean just thought about the other things he had to do.

Sammy had baseball practise which meant Dean would have to pick him up after his shift tonight. Unless he could wheedle help out of Ellen, which wasn’t too difficult most days. The sooner Sam got his license, the better.

Dean, finally had his own (legal) driver’s license, the only bright point in a rather bleak year. No more illegal unlicensed driving around with the risk of being pulled over. Sure, his friends had envied Dean’s ease with everything. Hell, John had started him early, age ten. By the time he was fourteen, he was picking up Sam at school and helping Bobby move the rust buckets around his own salvage lot. Dean was pretty ace with a forklift by now too. Regular ol’ worker bee.

Ash and the others would taunt him about ‘the Winchester way’. How Dean’d been the first of them to get a part-time job, first to get them booze, first to get a hand up a girl’s skirt. It was great to be a Winchester, that’s what they said. What the hell did they know?

 

—-***—-

 

“That was a lot of fun, surprisingly,” Lisa Braeden said with a laugh.

Jo snorted, “Surprisingly? What, you thought a zombie apocalypse B-grade movie wasn’t going to knock your socks off?”

“Hey, it _was_ half price,” Ash said, loping alongside Jo. “and the caramel popcorn had free clumps of salt included.”

“Gag-tastic,” Jo said, pretending to choke on her own tongue.

Dean chuckled. The movie had been pretty damn awful. Lame effects, less-than-stellar acting and way more sex scenes than necessary. But it was his first movie with Lisa. The fact she’d been okay with the sad excuse for a movie just made her even cooler in Dean’s eyes. The four of them were walking along Main Street, not really wanting to head home.

Dean definitely wasn’t keen on letting go of Lisa’s hand just yet. The fact she hadn’t recoiled from his touch pretty much made his heart soar.

“Hey, let’s cut through here,” Ash nodded, indicating the grass knoll ahead. “I may be able to score us some weed.”

“Ash!” Jo cried out, “Is that all you think about? You damn pothead!”

“What, Joanna-beth? You seem surprised or somethin’?”

“Ugh,” she swiped at his shoulder. “You know I can’t go home smelling of weed, jackass. My mom would skin me alive.”

“That she would,” Dean nodded gravely. “One helluva woman, that Ellen.”

“Your mom sounds pretty tough,” Lisa said, following Dean as he led them over the grass to the local playground.

“Naw, she’s just overprotective,” Jo said. “Honestly, I come home smelling of weed, she’ll whoop Dean’s ass right up alongside my own.”

Lisa giggled at Dean’s face. 

“Like I’m responsible for your fat ass!” Dean griped.

“No, but your ass could do with a paddlin’ every now and then.”

“Kinda kinky. Kinda gross,” Ash added on.

“Are we done raggin’ on Dean yet? ‘Cos I’m bored. You guys are boring,” Dean said huffily.

 

The park was so different at night. Deathly quiet and not lit very well. Only one tall lamppost stood beside the sandpit, shedding a bit of a glow around the area.

A short, sharp whistle drew their attention.

“Bingo,” Ash crowed, snapping his fingers. “My boys are in town.”

“Are we going to be complicit in a drug deal?” Lisa said quietly to Dean.

He looked at her, wondering if his friends weirded her out, but she had a coy smile across her lips. God _damn_ she was pretty. His fingers twined tighter with hers.

“Dunno, do criminals turn you on?” Dean pulled her back a bit, leaning in close. She giggled and he couldn’t help his own smile. 

“Dean, don’t be a perv,” she hissed, smacking his shoulder. She walked on, tugging him with.

Ash was greeting some guys sitting on the benches near the swings. There seemed to be four of them.

Why was it always like this? Teenagers hanging out in children’s playgrounds at night? Dean’s own friends had ended up here a bunch of times too. Maybe it was just, like, familiar ground for everyone. He figured it was what suburban kids craved. A place away from the adults, but not too far from the safety of  home. Ooh, _dangerous_. Not.

Naturally, these kids were smoking. Their cigarettes bloomed like fireflies every so often.

One of them got up to high five Ash. “Goin’ on, brother?” the guy said, laughing.

“Not much,” Ash said. “thought you might be here.”

“Ah, but not for the reason you were hoping, I’m guessin’?”

The guy was lanky and blonde, a beanie pulled over his hair. Definitely one of Ash’s buddies. They probably skated together.

“You kidding me?” Ash said, clearly forlorn.

“Sorry,” the blonde guy said with a laugh. “All out.”

“Aw, man,” Ash snapped his fingers.

“Probably a good thing,” Jo chimed in. “You got calc prep tomorrow. Don’t want that fancy noggin of yours withering away before you score a full ride to MIT.”

That sent up a load of laughter. It was always something of a surprise to think Ash, one of Dean’s oldest friends, also happened to be a damn MENSA genius with a mullet.

Dean looked around at the other teens sitting nearby.

It was pretty dark, but he squinted anyway.

“Hey,” he blinked, recognizing a face.

“Yo, Winchester,” Gabriel Novak said nonchalantly.

“What are you doing here, man?” Dean asked, looking the guy over. He may be older than Dean, but he sure as hell wasn’t growing like Dean. Poor dude wasn’t gonna crack five foot six at this rate.

“Was about to ask you the same thing. Where’s little Rambo-Sambo?”

Dean felt a tug on his sleeve. “Does he mean Sam?” Lisa asked, looking up at Dean.

Dean rolled his eyes. “What _is it_ with my brother? Does everyone fall for his puppy-dog face, or what?”

Lisa giggled. “Aw, come on, Dean. Sam’s adorable.” Yeah, Lisa had met Sam. And Sam had ribbed Dean endlessly about her long dark hair and big brown eyes, matching all the kiss faces and sounds he could muster.

“Uh, _yeah,_ where do you think he got it from?” Dean jerked a thumb at his own chest. Why was everyone laughing? He was adorable, damnit.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Gabe said, standing and stubbing out a cigarette with his sneaker. “M’lady.” He bowed in front of Lisa like some shakespearean hero.

Dean cocked a brow at that. “ _Really_ , dude?”

“Excuse _you_ if I’m just naturally charming, Winchester,” Gabe said with a wiggle of one eyebrow. Lisa laughed and shook his hand.

“Lisa Braeden. And you’re Gabriel Novak.”

“Ah-ha! Do the ladies know me or what?”

“Well, you are Castiel’s brother, aren’t you?” Lisa tilted her head with a smile. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d think that smile was innocent and not a poke at Gabriel.

Gabe squinted at her, “Outshone by _my_ little brother too? God damnit.” He then turned his head.  “Hey, Cas. You know this beautiful creature?”

Dean looked up. Shit, he hadn’t paid much attention, apparently.

Castiel Novak stood up, wiping at his faded jeans with holes in the knees. He came towards them, all unassuming. The shadows lessened and Dean could see him better now.

“Hello, Lisa,” Castiel said, voice deep, _holy shit_ what happened to his voice box? Castiel cleared his throat. Clearly puberty was doing a number on his vocal cords.

“Hi Castiel,” Lisa said with a genuine smile. “How are you?”

He blinked and rolled his eyes up, considering. With a soft smile, he looked back at her and said, “I am well.”

“That’s good,” Lisa said. What was this? Some kind of kids therapy session?

Dean cleared his throat. He was totally unsure of how he felt about this. 

“Oh, Dean, you know Castiel,” Lisa said, leaning into his side.

“Yeah,” Dean said, nodding in greeting to the other boy.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel returned, those wide, crazy dark blue eyes staring into his soul again.

“You’re all in the same year, I take it?” Gabe said. “Boring.” He waved his hand and curled an arm around Lisa’s shoulder. “Now you, my dear, should consider hanging out with perhaps some more interesting, shall we say, more mature men, yes?”

He was playing coy, so Dean didn’t do much more than snort. “Yeah, okay, shortstuff. You let me know when puberty gets round to you.”

“Hey!” Gabe cried, pulling a giggling Lisa away from Dean. “We’re not all meatheads like you, wide-load.”

Dean just rolled his eyes and let Lisa go. She didn’t seem too bothered. “Be careful with her,” he warned, as Gabe dragged her over to meet his other friends.

Typical Gabe, flirting, messing about. Dean knew the older Novak was as playful as he was devious. The pranks he played on the teachers at school would attest to that. Dean wondered when a guy like him would grow up. When would he see the big picture? Life wasn’t all about joking around. 

“You seem well,” came a rough voice.

Dean shook himself, refocusing on the person in front of him.

“Oh, uh, hey, yeah,” Dean said, eyeing Castiel.

The kid had certainly grown. He wasn’t much of a weed anymore. All filled out, his hair still a complete mess though. It was so strange to think that this dude was in the same year as Dean. they never crossed paths, never had to work together, never even had to borrow pencils from one another, and yet … here they were, having one weird-ass awkward encounter.

“Lisa and I are lab partners,” Castiel said calmly, gaze drifting over Dean. “In case our connection seemed tenuous.”

“Tenuous? Dude, don’t go wasting your big words on me. In one ear, out the other.”

Castiel blinked and Dean figured his words weren’t as funny as he thought. “I’m kidding.”

“Ah,” Castiel nodded. 

“So, uh,” Dean scratched at his chin. “You come here to blaze a lot?”

Castiel turned to look at his friends mingling with Dean’s. He shrugged. “I don’t smoke. But I do, for whatever reason, end up here every now and then because my friends _do_ smoke.”

“Hm, I woulda totally pegged you for a hardcore druggie by now, Cas,” Dean said with a smirk.

“I do not intend to ever do drugs, Dean,” Castiel said warily, checking Dean. “Oh, you were joking?”

Dean chuckled then, feeling a bit of his unease shifting. “Man, of course you don’t do drugs. You’re the most straight-laced guy I’ve ever met in my whole life.”

Castiel looked sheepish. “You hardly know me at all, Dean.”

“Yeah. You’re right. So enlighten me.”

Castiel blinked, clearly caught off-guard.

“What?”

“Tell me something about you, dude. Give me some Castiel info. How come we’ve been in the same year for like, a million semesters and we don’t know each other, huh?”

“We do go to a very large school.”

“Yeah, but we’re sixteen! Man, that’s like almost ten years of us not ever talking. Plus, you’re at the same dojo as Sam. He never shuts up about you.”

Castiel tilted his head, “Odd. He never stops talking about you.”

“Well, I am pretty awesome,” Dean smirked.

Castiel just stared back.

“And you want to talk … now?”

Dean pouted his lips like a brat pretending to look for an answer. “Uh, yuh, dude.” Why not? It's not like Castiel had leprosy or some shit.

Castiel looked unsure and Dean wondered, for a moment, what could set off unease like that. Was it Dean? Was he some kind of jackass? Or was it Castiel’s innate shyness? What did Sam call it? Introvertedness? Dean was apparently not an introvert, cos he was a ‘people person’, which sounded like a ball of shit, as Dean had great difficulty not strangling most people in public.

“All right,” Castiel said. “Well, I have a pet chameleon.”

Dean blinked, a smile cracking its way across his lips. “Hah, what?”

Castiel kind of _almost_ smiled. “His name is Dante, after Dante Alighieri. I was reading his Divine Comedy when I found him curled up in my aunt’s garden. I think he may have been someone else’s pet, but I wasn’t going to just leave him outside.”

“Your lizard wrote a comedy?”

Castiel blinked, then smiled, clearly unable to help himself. “ _No_. My chameleon did not write one of the greatest Italian pieces of literature, though I would be _very_ proud of him had he done so.” 

“I’ll say. Don’t they have, like three thumbs? How would it hold a pen?”

“Dante has five toes actually, though his calligraphy skills leave much to be desired.”

“Ok, so wait, what? Tell me again? You have a five-toed lizard–“

“Chameleon.”

“Chameleon, named _Dante?_ ”

“Yes.”

“And he’s named after a guy who writes Italian sitcoms?”

“No, Dean, you’re not-“ Castiel’s smile was really quite infectious and Dean was clearly having an effect on it. Dean felt his own grin seep out, playfulness making him laugh. “You have no idea what Dante’s Divine Comedy is, do you?”

Dean barked out a laugh and made a face, “Of course not. Do I look like some kind of scholar?”

“Do I?” Castiel queried.

Dean gave the guy a once-over. “Yeah, sort of. I guess.”

“And you’re basing that on…?”

“Dude, you have a chameleon. That’s pretty awesome even if you are a giant nerd.”

“Gabriel calls me that too.”

“What? A nerd?”

Castiel nodded, “But he does not mean it in a bad way. He says it is because he himself is not a nerd, so can appreciate a nerd from afar.”

Dean cracked up at that. “Oh my God, seriously? Hah! I am so using that one on Sammy.”

Castiel looked wry but not perturbed. “So Sam is the smart brother?”

“Hey now,” Dean said, raising a finger. “I don’t think that’s what-“

“What is your favourite drink, Dean?”

“My fave– _man_ , you have weird questions.”

“How is this stranger than me asking what, um, what TV shows you like?”

“MacGuyver, for one, and yeah, it’s weird. But it’s okay weird.”

“MacGuyver?”

“And Bourbon.”

“Bourbon is your favourite drink?” Castiel looked skeptical. “I find that hard to believe. You would need years to perfect a palate for such strong alcohol.”

Dean did laugh then. Super loud. “Gotta start somewhere, though, right?”

“Dean, you are very strange.”

“And you’re super weird, Cas.”

And how did that nickname slip out? Dean glossed over it, not checking to see if the other guy noticed his flub.

“Hey now,” Lisa said, coming to loop an arm around Dean’s waist. “Are you two getting along?”

“Lisa, I’m afraid your boyfriend might have grand ambitions of becoming the next Hemingway.” Cas said this with a deadpan expression.

Lisa looked at Dean and smiled wide. God, Cas had used the 'boyfriend' word. Dean hadn't yet gone near that idea with Lisa yet; they were so new. 

“What?” Dean asked, “I don’t get it.”

“He’s saying you might be a bit of a drunk drama-queen.” Lisa giggled.

“Oh my God, are _you_ a nerd too?” Dean gasped (dramatically), stepping away from Lisa. 

“You need some nerdery in your life to keep you balanced, Dean,” Lisa said. “Castiel and I can be your book worms.”

“Ew, I don’t need worms, thanks.”

“The bourbon will get rid of that.”

Dean blinked. “Hell, did you just make a joke, Cas?” 

Lisa laughed. “Why yes, I believe he did.”

“Huh, okay,” Dean said, nodding. “Maybe having two nerds around won’t be too bad. Sam doesn’t count. He’s only half-dweeb.”

 

“I suppose that’s a workable situation. If we manage to share some interests. Like animals,” the dark-haired boy said calmly.

“You mean, so we’re like birds of a feather?” Dean smiled.

“Flock together?” Lisa added.

 

“Dude, if we’re birds now, I would totally be a falcon. You can be a flamingo.”

“Dean, I hardly think flamingoes–“

 

And that’s how it all started.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was wondering, the story is named after the song with the same title by Amy Winehouse. Makes sense from a plot perspective and the gambling reference certainly helps.

1 year later.

** Dean: age 17 - Sam: age 13 **

 

—

 

“You know this isn’t going to come out well,” Dean griped. 

“You shouldn’t worry so much,” Cas said from behind his own board. 

Dean bit his lips as he straddled the drawing horse, his paint board leaning against the horse’s frame in front of him. He knew he should never have taken this damn class. God, the mess he was making.

“Lean out,” he heard Cas say. Dean sighed and leaned to the side, meeting Castiel’s gaze. Cas looked at him, squinted, then went back to his own painting.

“This blows,” Dean hissed, looking round at the class. 

Everyone had been given a partner and they were asked to do a portrait of one another, drawing horses facing one another. You’d think that after weeks of painting theory and practice, Dean would have some grasp on how to paint without making a mess of muddy splotches. No such luck.

His last brushstroke looked like it had more to do with monkeys flinging poop than actual art.

Sure, this was an easy credit. Basically just showing up would earn Dean a pass, but he never really expected to have to draw anything, least of all his friend’s face.

“Hey,” Dean griped.

Cas leaned out again, brows raised. Dean eyed his friend, noting the sharp brow, blue eyes and freshly shorn, dark hair. Right, now to butcher that with his lack of art skills.

“Dean, just consider this practice,” Cas said calmly. “No one will judge you.”

“Uh, yeah they will. I would. ’S not like I have to paint some stranger who nobody’ll recognize. Everyone here knows I’m painting your sorry-ass face.”

“I apologize if my face is not easy to paint.” Cas murmured from behind his board.

“Yeah, seriously. Why couldn’t you just have like, a round pink head and two black dots for eyes? I think even I could manage that. Inconsiderate, dude.”

He heard Cas chuckle. 

They’d been sitting like this for a couple hours already. Some people were done, having given up at some point, but Dean figured he might as well kill time, while Cas actually _tried_ to do some real art. Waiting for Cas to finish wasn’t a total hardship.

The drawing horse was fucking painful to sit on though. Dean’s back was probably bent in three places. Crippling, this art gig.

Dean picked up a blob of blue paint, trying his best to smear it in the vague vicinity of where Cas’ eyes should be. Eh, not even close. Maybe he should have used a smaller brush?

“Mr Winchester.”

Dean glanced up and smiled. Miss Rannelly was staring at his work, her apron practically starched dry from the years of painting with uncoordinated teenagers. She was one of the few teachers that never fell for his ol’ Winchester charm. Dean kinda liked that.

She pointed at his pathetic excuse for art and said, “Perhaps if you mixed a different hue of blue. Mr Novak, look up for a moment.”

Cas’ head reappeared, blinking owlishly. 

“Now you see? His eyes are not as dark as you have them. Try adding a little more yellow and a smudge of white to that pthalo blue. That’s right. Just a little. Now look, see how Castiel’s eyes are lighter at the bottom? The light settles there. Remember, eyes are orbs, not flat circles, so light passes through the lens before hitting the iris.”

Dean stared at Cas, nodding. She was right, though. Cas’ eyes were pretty changeable most days, but in the bright sunlight streaming through the windows, they looked pale and shone bright. When his friend blinked, Dean noticed how his dark eyelashes kinda helped make his eyes look brighter too. Huh.

Miss Rannelly directed Dean on a few more brushstrokes, not once making fun of his stupid skills. “You’re getting there, see?” she said with a pat to his shoulder.

Dean felt a bit bolstered. Cool.

He didn’t really need to be good at art to pass, but not being total shit wasn’t too bad.

When Miss Rannelly helped Cas with his painting, Dean listened quietly.

“A little more shadowing perhaps? Yes, right there. Remember how light reflects, Castiel. Consider under the nose. That’s right. Very good.”

Cas was so studious, it made Dean always want to poke fun. 

 

By the time the bell rang, Dean’s shoulders were crying out. He stood up, grateful the damn school day was done. It was finally the weekend.

“Urgh,” Dean stretched his arms up, feeling his back clicking. He let his arms drop and tugged his shirt back down from where it had ridden up.

Cas stood as well and made to come round.

“No!” Dean cried, blocking him. “Don’t look. You’ll vomit.”

Cas just laughed. “Don’t be shy, Dean.”

Miss Rannelly ordered all the students to rest their art up against the window rail so they could dry over the weekend. Dean griped and grumbled, waiting for almost all his classmates to leave before picking up his own piece. The less eyeballs on his work, the better his ego would fare.

The other art boards showcased some decent and some not-so-decent work. This made Dean feel better. Not _everyone_ was a freakin’ Picasso.

He snorted at Randy’s depiction of Ruby. The horns and snake tongue did wonders for the girl.

He put his board up near the end and stopped back. Blegh. 

Cas came up beside him. “You did well, Dean. You have improved.”

“Oh, puh-lease,” Dean rolled his eyes as he watched Cas lift up his own painting.

Dean stopped all thought as his friend gently balanced the art piece up beside Dean’s.

“ _Holy_ shitballs,” Dean breathed.

Cas glanced at him, then seemed shy, patting at his own paint-splattered jeans as he stepped back.

Dean was staring at a painting of himself, for sure. But like, a _really good_ painting of himself.

“Cas, _dude_ ,” Dean stepped closer. Fuck, _no way_. Cas had used odd colours, like pinks and blues to bring out the shapes in Dean’s face. Bright fuchsia pinks highlighted his nose and eyes and deep blues and purples struck bold shadows in his jaw and hair. It definitely looked like Dean, but damn, it felt strange.

He stared at Cas, who was purposely picking at a paint splotch on his t-shirt. “You are so friggin’ talented,” he said. “Unfair.”

Cas kind of blushed, which was cute, the dork. “Shut up.”

Dean grinned, “Take the compliment. I’m only giving you one.”

“Okay, fine,” Cas said wearily, used to Dean’s jokes.

“Though, not surprising, really,” Dean added, comparing his piece to Castiel’s. “You did have a fucking hot-ass model, am I right?”

Dean grinned at the way Cas rolled his eyes. 

“Oh God,” Cas sighed. “Your ego will smother us all.”

Dean just clicked his tongue wolfishly. “Ain’t it the truth, though?”

 

—-***—-

 

“Mind if I take him off your hands?” Lisa said, coming up beside Dean near the school entrance where he and Cas dawdled.

 

Dean leaned in and gave her a kiss. “Sorry babe, I have a late shift tonight. Cas and I are heading out now anyway.”

 

“Oh, boo,” Lisa said. She turned to Cas with a smile. “I suppose I can forgive you for stealing my boyfriend on a Friday night. But only because it’s you, Castiel.”

“I’m not stealing him,” Cas said with a smile. “I’m walking him to his job, where he has to be before four or else he’ll get fired.”

“And that just happens to be on the way home for Cas,” Dean added.

“Oh, all right,” Lisa said. “Call me when you get home, okay?” She stared up at Dean, eyes bright.

“It’ll be pretty late,” Dean said, tugging at his backpack. “You sure?”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Lisa said with a wink that had Dean grinning.

“You saucy minx,” he rumbled and leaned in for another, longer kiss.

When they separated, Lisa pushed at him. “Go,” she said with a laugh.

Cas was studiously _not_ looking at them when Dean looked up.

“You coming, or what?” Dean said.

“Yes, all right,” Cas sighed, turning to follow Dean out the school and into the Friday sunlight.

 

—-***—-

 

Dean wasn’t concentrating. He walked along beside Cas, thoughts lost on Lisa.

He felt a poke in his ribs. “Ow, hey,” he snapped, looking at Cas.

“If I’m boring you, just let me know,” Cas said sarcastically.

“Sorry,” Dean said sheepishly. “Distracted.”

“Anything I need to be worried about? Like when you used me as an excuse to your boss about why you were late last month?”

“Hey, ‘a friend needed an emergency hospital run’ is a totally valid excuse.”

Cas rolled his eyes, “Yes, instead of just admitting that you’d suffered a terrible hangover from over-indulgence, you opted for a flagrant lie about me needing emergency surgery.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Dean smirked.

Cas just sighed. “Yes, but now your boss knows exactly who I am and keeps staring at me like I should be bent over with a gaping abdominal wound.”

“Oh, Cas,” Dean sighed as well.

“What?”

“Just thinking about Lisa,” Dean said, watching a few clouds in the sky.

“How odd. Is that something I need to take note of?” Cas said bluntly.

Dean laughed, “Dude, you don’t understand. We finally get down to the deed and it’s like, _damn_.”

“Please do not start regaling me with your sex stories again, Dean. I think I’ve been scarred enough for one lifetime.”

“Man, it’s like once you open the faucet, it just never ends.”

Cas looked a bit grossed out.

“I mean,” Dean said gruffly, “I keep thinking of when we’ll do it next. When’s next time? When are her parents gonna be busy? Why can’t I stay over?”

“Um, I think we’ve clarified that her parents, especially her Dad, are not particularly fond of your brand of devilry.” Cas was well acquainted with Dean’s complaints.

“Still don’t know what his problem is,” Dean grumbled, thinking of Lisa’s father.

“Yes, it’s like he doesn’t trust you, or something,” Cas said. Dean scowled at him. He kinda rued the day Cas started to pick up on sarcasm.

“I’m _so_ trustworthy,” Dean countered.

“Is that why you keep promising to have her home before curfew, then instead of heeding his warning, you end up having sex with his daughter and sneaking out of her window like some infidel in the night?”

“Excuse you, I do not sneak in or out of windows.”

Cas raised a brow.

“Hey, the backseat of the Impala is just as romantic as any king-sized bed. Better, even.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “And you wonder why her father wants to string you up.”

“Whatever. He was a teenager once. I hope.”

“Which is probably why he sees every young male as a source of great trepidation. Lisa is very attractive, as you well know, so she probably had a lot of suitors ask about her before you came along.”

Dean snorted at the word ‘suitors’. “Yeah, but none of them could ever hold a candle to me,” he said with a wide grin.

“Your modesty shames us all, Dean,” Cas said.

“Oh, lighten up,” Dean said patting Castiel’s shoulder. “We should get you laid, huh? How about that?”

“If you’ve been talking to my brother again–“

“No, but seriously! What about that girl in art class? Whatserface? Rachel? Rapunzel?”

“Brittany,” Cas said.

“Yeah, her. She clearly wants in your pants. Get on that.”

“I don’t think she-“

“Oh, come on!” Dean wheedled. 

“Dean,” Cas said. “Stop badgering me about girls.”

“Hey, Gabe does it too. Pretty soon Sam will be asking.”

Cas groaned, “I hope to never have to discuss sex with your brother, ever.”

Dean shrugged. “Eh. He’ll be a man one day. Gotta prepare, I guess.”

“Just nevermind, Dean,” Cas said with a scowl. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Surely there’s someone you like?” Dean said, eyeing his friend. “I mean, it’s not like you’re some ogre or whatever. Chicks totally dig you. Lisa says so anyway. The whole gymnastics team apparently thinks you have a tight ass, or whatever.”

Cas looked at him, gaze free of emotion. Then he looked away. “I don’t want any of those ‘chicks’, Dean. Just leave it alone.”

“Jeez, okay, fine, fine.” Dean put up his hands. “Just looking out for a friend.”

 

—-***—- 

 

“Thanks for coming to get him,” Merle said, gruff and surly as ever. “Damn fool almost lost his hand.”

 

Cas followed the man into the garage, the tarmac shining under the bright streetlamp. “I’m sure he brought it on himself,” Cas muttered.

 

“Ain’t it always the way?” Merle sighed. “Jack gave way, you know. Coulda crushed his damn hand under that wheel.”

Cas’ eyes darkened for a moment. 

Dean was coming towards them, his hand wrapped up tight in a messy bandage.

“Dean…” Cas breathed, coming forward.

“It’s nothin’,” Dean bit out, clearly annoyed. 

Cas ignored him and gently touched his hand. Dean pulled away.

“ _Stop_ ,” Dean whined. “Let’s just go. I’ve been kicked out, right?”

Merle snorted. “You ain’t no use to me like that. Get that thing fixed up, pronto. Check in with me tomorrow and we’ll talk about when you’re back in.”

“But I need the hours,” Dean said, eyes wide. “Come on, Merle.”

“I said git,” Merle snapped, flicking a dirty rag at Dean’s head. “Thank your lucky stars I didn’t call Bobby in fer this.”

Dean scowled and followed Cas out into the quiet night.

“Dean, we need to get that checked out.” Cas could see the strain in Dean’s face as the other boy gingerly shifted his backpack while trying to not move his injured arm.

“Nuh-uh,” Dean grumbled. “No hospital.”

“It looks really bad, though,” Cas murmured.

“Cas, I don’t have insurance, okay? I cannot afford to have some expensive doctor take a five minute look-over and declare it bruised or whatever, then charge me up the ass for it. Plus, they’ll probably call Bobby, or my fucking Dad or some shit. Thank God this happened at work and not school. You know how trigger-happy paranoid the teachers are about student safety and shit.”

Cas frowned. “Fine, then at least let me get my mom to look at it.”

“What?” Dean blinked. 

“Hey, you called because I’m closest, right?” Cas countered, tugging at Dean’s elbow. “So it’s not too far a walk to my house. My mom can look you over.”

“No way, man,” Dean said. “I called you ‘cos Merle wasn’t gonna let me outta there alone. Plus Sammy’s still at practice. Merle reckoned the adults would need to hear about this.”

“Well, don’t they?” Cas said.

“No,” he stared Cas down. “Shut up, Cas.”

Castiel just glared right back until Dean faltered. Sometimes he wondered how this dork of a dude had become such a regular fixture in his life. Over the last year Dean had become well acquainted with Castiel’s meek and mild façade; a cover for his scary-ass personality underneath.

“Ok, ok. Fine. Whatever. We’ll go see your Mom, or whoever.”

Cas smiled. 

 

Jerk.

 

—-***—-

 

Dean had never been to Cas’ house. Had never met Cas’ parents, either. It wasn’t exactly something he needed to do. But Cas did say his Mom was a nurse, so … this was happening.

 

“Parents don’t like me, Cas,” Dean grumbled when they entered the really nice white house on the corner of a quiet street not more than ten minutes later. 

Cas toed off his shoes. “That’s nice, Dean.” he said as a way of annoying the Winchester. 

“No, seriously,” Dean groused, holding his aching wrist in his other hand. “Don’t blame me if your Mom takes my head off or something.” He shifted his backpack, trying to get it off. Cas came up and tugged it carefully off his good shoulder and held it while Dean twisted, keeping his bandaged hand free.

Cas rolled his eyes and pulled Dean along the tiled corridor.

“Castiel? Is that you?” they heard a voice call out. Guess the two of them made enough noise for it to echo through the really big house.

“Come on,” Cas said softly, noticing Dean staring at the paintings on the wall. “She’s in the kitchen.”

Dean followed his friend through the quiet, kinda cold house. What’s with no lights? Energy-saving initiative probably. Dean figured Cas came from a bunny-hugger family already.

 

There was a warmer light coming from somewhere ahead. Dean followed Cas round the corner and into a wide, spacious and beautifully lit kitchen. _Damn_. This place was set up.

A woman turned to them, hands covered in what could only be flour, unless Cas’ parents were into coke-dealing or something. She blinked.

“Oh, you have a friend?” she said, clearly surprised. She picked up a hand towel and carefully wiped at her dusty fingers. She came forward, eyes bright and interested in this new stranger. She was petite, hair short and curled about her face in an impeccable style and her skin was pale and smooth.

“And who might you be?” she asked with a smile.

Dean blinked. God, moms were so awkward.

“This is Dean Winchester,” Cas said calmly, stepping aside. “Dean, my mom.”

“Selene,” she added, hand extended. 

Dean carefully shook her small hand, feeling like a filthy monkey wrench in her presence.

“Hi,” he said. Cas seemed unbothered by this whole thing.

She gave him a look-over, like he was some kind of zoo exhibit or circus freak. “Castiel never brings home friends, Dean. So excuse my surprise.”

Coming from someone else, this might have sounded like a jab at Cas; but this woman’s eyes sparkled. She definitely was his mother, though. Her hair was dark, like Cas’, but her eyes were warm, like Gabe’s.

“Dean’s hurt his hand,” Cas said.

Selene stepped back, eyes immediately dropping. “Oh, so he has.”

“Can you fix him?” Cas said, popping what appeared to be a grape into his mouth. 

Dean almost smiled at the wording. It would take a lot more than a band-aid or two to fix this mess that was Dean Winchester.

“Well, I can certainly take a look,” Cas’ mom said. “Why don’t you two settle down at the table. Let me just finish up here, get the oven going, and I can come help.”

“Okay,” Cas said calmly, tugging at Dean’s elbow.

“Um, okay,” Dean faltered. He followed Cas to the adjoining dining room where a large table sat with a massive vase of flowers in its centre.

“Nice place,” Dean grumbled, sitting in a chair. Jesus, they had a fucking _chandelier_.

“Don’t feel uncomfortable, Dean,” Cas murmured, petting his arm. “My mom won’t bite.”

“Mmm,” Dean sucked his teeth. “History may prove you wrong.”

They could hear her moving about next door. Buttons beeped and crockery was slid about, bowls and utensils clanking.

It took maybe ten minutes before she appeared in front of them, medical bag and all in her pristinely clean hands.

“Good thing your brother is out,” Selene murmured, settling into a seat beside Dean. 

“He is a terrible assistant,” Cas clarified at Dean’s raised brow. “Gabriel is nothing if not distracting.”

“Meaning, he’d be all over this in a heartbeat,” Dean said wryly.

“Precisely,” Cas nodded.

“Castiel, why don’t you get Dean a drink. We have some iced tea in the fridge.”

And before Dean could argue, Cas was up and gone.

Ugh.

Dean bit his lip as Cas’ mom took his hand gently between her fingers. She hummed at the shoddy bandaging job, carefully unwrapping it. Bits came away bloody, but not too much so.

“Oh dear,” she breathed, pulling the last of the wrapping away. “You really did bash it, didn’t you?”

Dean winced as she turned his wrist. “Yeah, I guess. Stupid mistake.”

She looked him over carefully. “Well, nothing appears to be broken. Can you move your fingers. Try one at a time.”

Dean did so. His thumb ached the worst.

“Hmm,” Selene murmured, not unlike the way Cas would when studying something interesting in bio lab. “This is engine grease, I presume?” she wiped at a dark smear. Dean was covered in the stuff. His calloused hands were evidence of many years working under cars.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, I’m covered in it.” Dean felt particularly bad about getting her nice clean house dirty. Shit, he hadn’t even taken his shoes off.

“Not a problem,” she said. She reached across to her bag and pulled out a bottle of what looked like sterilizer, or alcohol. Definitely smelled like it.

“Castiel?” She said loudly, dabbing cotton balls into a lidful of the stuff.

“Yes?” came the faint reply.

“Can you go get your father’s hand wash from the garage? The one in the pump bottle?”

“Okay,” Cas said.

Dean felt a little bloom of panic. He hated being left alone with other people’s parents. It was always so damn awkward. They had the dumbest questions and wanted to know too much about him, it was terrifying.

Selene carefully cleaned up the scratches that covered the back of his hand and knuckles, the source of most of the blood. Her hands were gentle, but swift.

“I’m going to bandage you up properly,” she said, making him jump. God, were all the Novaks trained spies? “I have tension bandages for your wrist, but your thumb may need a brace. You’re going to have a very badly bruised hand in the morning, I’m afraid.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said.

She looked at him suddenly, eyes full of intrigue. Yup, definitely related to Cas.

“Castiel hasn’t ever mentioned you, Dean,” she said plainly. “I’m sure he would have at some point.”

“Er,” Dean felt awkward. “Well, y’know, we don’t hang out all the time.” Just more often over the last few months, especially now that they shared a few more classes.

“Hmm,” she hummed. 

“Sam is Dean’s brother,” Cas said, suddenly reappearing with drinks and a massive pump bottle of soap.

Selene’s brows shot up. “Oh, Sam Winchester? Of course, I should have twigged at the name. Sorry, Dean.” She smiled at him like he was some cute kid or somethin’. “I have met Sam a couple times. Such a sweet boy.”

“Yeah, ain’t he just,” Dean muttered. The hell was Sam doing meeting Cas’ parents? Weird.

“Makes more sense now,” Selene said, pulling out a roll of elasticated bandage. Cas settled into the seat next to his mom, across from Dean. “Sam is quite the chatterbox. I should have known I’d meet his long-fabled brother at some point.”

Dean wanted to blush himself into oblivion. “Sam’s, yeah, okay, he needs to stop talking like that.”

Selene laughed, “Oh, but it is sweet.”

“Ugh,” Dean wanted to die.

Cas smirked at Dean’s discomfort.

 

If looks could kill, Cas would be six feet under.

 

“Drink your tea,” Cas said, leaning over with a cool glass.

Dean wasn’t really one for iced tea or anything remotely of tea-like origins, but he had _some_ manners. He sipped angrily, which seemed to make Cas laugh.

 

“There,” Selene said, pinning the bandage in place. Now let me just go look for something to brace your thumb with and you should be set.”

 

She stood and walked back through the kitchen, leaving Dean to inspect her handiwork.

 

“She’s pretty good,” he said.

“Yeah, she’s okay,” Cas said with a small smile.

Dean quirked a brow. “Okay, she’s great. Jeez.” It wasn’t like Dean knew anything about Cas’ family, aside from his annoying brother. Who even knew he had parents?

Something dinged in the kitchen. Rustling noises indicated Cas’ mom had reentered the kitchen. It sounded like the oven was being opened.

“Oh, perfect,” they heard Selene say.

And then, something not unlike the scent of heaven’s holy word itself wafted into the dining room.

Dean immediately perked up. “Holy shit,” he whispered. “What is that smell? Cas, Cas, what is it?”

It was warm and smelled liked baked goods, like sweetness and butter and _mmmm._

Cas tilted his head, amused. “It’s probably a pie of some sort. She bakes a lot, especially at night. Gabe’s got a very persistent sweet tooth.”

Dean’s mouth watered so profusely, he had to lick his lips, tongue thick. “Dude, _dude.”_

“Dean,” Cas said with an amused smirk. “Do you like _pie_?”

“Seriously?” Dean eyed the other boy. “You’ve known me _how long_ and you don’t know I’d give my left nut for a good pecan pie? Or apple. Or whatever.”

Jesus, what kind of pal was Cas?

Selene reappeared. “Sorry for the wait.”

“Not a problem,” Dean piped, not unlike a puppy. Cas looked like he was trying to stifle a chuckle.

“I have this brace for you. It’s not brand new, but it should suffice. So, you slip it on your thumb, like this. Ok? It’ll also stop you bashing it when you’re using your hands for other stuff.”

Dean peered at Cas’ smirk. _Shut it_ , he glared.

“Thanks for helping, Mom,” Cas said, standing as she stood.

“Oh, uh, yes!” Dean stood hastily. “Thank you for, uh, helping me with this.” he waved his salvaged hand a bit.

“Oh, hush, not a problem, Dean. It’s probably good that Castiel was able to bring you over. I may never have had the chance to meet you.”

Dean smiled, genuinely surprised at her kindness. Okay, so maybe not all parents were douche canoes.

“Well, we should probably get you home, Dean,” Cas said.

Dean’s eyes went wide, flicking to the kitchen and back. _Oh, come on, Cas! You know this is torture._

Cas just raised a brow. “Come on, Sam will be waiting up.”

“No, no, Sam’s good,” Dean said quickly. “You know. He’s fine. Probably with Bobby by now. Pretty sure Bobby was gonna pick him up.”

“Now, Dean,” Cas said like the snake he was, coming round to tug at Dean’s elbow. “Sam’s expecting you to pick him up. You have a long walk back to your car. It’s not like you have a reason to stay.”

Dean’s eyes were _pleading,_ wide and open.

“Gabriel will be home soon,” Selene said. “How about we wait for him and then I can give you a ride home, Dean? Would that be okay? It is very late after all.”

“Yes! I mean, that would be nice, uh Mrs Novak.”

“Selene,” she added.

“Selene. Yes.”

Cas actually cackled, which drew his mother’s eye. “Something funny, young man?”

“I don’t think Gabriel will be happy to find half his pie gone when he gets in.”

Selene blinked and looked at Dean. She seemed to get the hint and she smiled. “Oh, Dean, have you not eaten? Do you like pie, perhaps? I’ve just made a fresh one.”

If Cas’ mother couldn’t read the outright puppy face (drooling included) that exploded from Dean, then the woman didn’t have functioning eyes. He nodded madly.

She smiled wider, clearly smitten with him. “Oh, Castiel, you have to bring Dean around more often. You know how much my baking can go to waste around here.”

Dean couldn’t have lit up any more as the two Novaks led him back into the kitchen. 

“Mom, with Gabriel and now Dean, I think we’ll be lucky to have enough space in the oven for the amount of pies you’ve just signed up to bake.”

 

—-***—-

 

Sam bent down and eyed Dean from his spot near the parking lot.

“Just get in,” Dean groused, jabbing his good thumb at the backseat.

“Uh, hi, Cas,” Sam said, sliding into the backseat with his gear.

The dirty red VW next to them honked. Sam looked up. Gabe waved.

“Long story,” Dean sighed.

“Dean injured himself at work,” Cas said calmly, as he carefully reversed the monstrous car out across the gravel. “And does not have good enough use of his hand to work the stick. So Gabriel and I are assisting.”

“You’re hurt?” Sam said, leaning between the front seats to eye Dean. He had to wipe at his long bangs. Damn, the kid needed a haircut.

Dean waved his bandaged hand. “Calm down, it’s not a big deal.”

“What happened?” Sam asked worriedly. “did you see a doctor? Is it broken?”

“Sammy, just can it. I’m fine,” Dean snapped.

“Dean–“ Sam began but was cut off by his brother’s hand.

The younger Winchester just huffed out a breath and slumped back in his seat. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean grumbled, brows furrowed.

“So where am I taking you?” Cas said, eyeing the rearview mirror. Gabe was following along behind them.

“Elm Street,” Dean grumbled.

“Stanton avenue,” Sam said at the same time.

Cas looked at Dean. The older Winchester had a scowl peeling across his features.

“Um,” Cas said carefully. “those are two very different parts of town.”

“Just take us to Elm,” Dean said.

“No,” Sam countered. “Bobby said Dad left this morning, remember? We gotta go to his place. That’s the rule.”

“Are you for real?” Dean said, shifting in his seat angrily.

“You were there this morning,” Sam said. “don’t get mad at me if you weren’t listening.”

“God damnit,” Dean hissed. Then he glared out the window.

“Okay,” Cas said carefully, indicating left. “Stanton it is.”

The brothers were quiet the rest of the ride, Dean fuming into himself and Sam just staring at nothing. Castiel could feel the mood pressing down on them like a lead weight. It made for a long, awkward night drive.

By the time the Impala rolled up to the very deserted and dusty drive on Stanton, the sun was long gone and the stars were out.

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam mumbled, clambering awkwardly out of the car, dragging his baseball gear behind him.

Castiel turned off the engine, letting the car rumble into nothingness.

He turned to look at Dean.

“Are you okay?” he murmured.

Dean’s jaw clenched before he looked at Castiel.

“Fucking peachy.” he snapped before cracking open the passenger side door and getting out.

Castiel blinked but moved to exit the vehicle. He carefully closed the door and walked around to meet Dean, keys dangling in his hand.

He jangled them in front of the Winchester.

Dean blinked in the near-dark. “Oh, right.” Taking the keys, he stared down at them considering who-knows-what.

Then Gabe’s VW rolled up, headlights glaring.

Dean turned. “Shoot.” he looked at Cas again, face clearly perturbed but not wholly angry; not at Cas anyway.

“Sorry about the long drive. Didn’t think it’d be out here. Shoulda gotten a cab or somethin’.”

Cas shrugged, “It’s no problem. Cabs are overpriced and we were free.”

Dean bit his lip, thinking. “Thanks, Cas.” He blinked. “for your help.”

Castiel patted Dean’s shoulder. “You’re very welcome, Dean.”

Dean scrubbed at his hair. “And, uh, thank your mom for her help. And the pie.” He looked beyond embarrassed with just a simple word of gratitude.

Gabe honked loudly.

“Jesus,” Dean growled, glaring into the bright headlights.

“You lovebirds done?” Gabe yelled out his window. 

Cas rolled his eyes. “Careful with that arm, Dean. Get some rest and I’ll see you Monday, okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean said with a nod before stuffing his keys into his jacket pocket. “Bye, Cas.”

 

The younger Novak clambered into his brother’s car and Dean waved as the vehicle reversed haphazardly out of Bobby’s dirt-ass driveway.

He stood there a moment longer, flexing his sore hand, brows furrowed. He looked over at the house. Lights were on inside and Sam was probably already in the kitchen yammering to Bobby about baseball.

 

Dean sighed. Well, what did he expect? He walked up to the house where he would probably be staying (again) for the next couple weeks.

Bobby was fucking unimpressed with the state of Dean’s hand, citing bullshit workplace practices and threatening to cuff Merle next time he saw him, but Dean managed to dissuade him on the grounds that it was all his fault. He’d messed up, hadn’t paid attention and this was the result of another Dean Winchester fuck-up. As always.

Though dinner was loud and filled with Dean and Bobby’s gripes and Sam’s endless questions about homework, at least it was the weekend.

 

So by the time Dean crashed face-first into bed, he was too exhausted to realize that he hadn’t called Lisa and he probably wouldn’t for the entire weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so used to reading about Cas having terrible parents, I felt this time, maybe he could luck out in the parent department?


	5. Chapter 5

** Dean: age 17 -  Sam: age 13 **

 

—

Months later - January

—

 

Sam was sitting at the kitchen table, taking notes for his world history class. He looked up when John came in with garbage bags, big and black and filled with years of crap, in his hands.

 

“That should do it,” John said gruffly, dropping the bags near the kitchen back door. Sam wasn’t sure what was going on exactly. Dad was cleaning out the garage and hadn’t started dinner yet. Maybe he was waiting for Dean. Dean wasn’t working late today, so maybe he could whip up his famous mashed potatoes with the tons of garlic and butter. Sam had only been back from school an hour but he could tell by the pile of bags near the back door that his Dad had been at it for hours and hours. Probably all day. Well, whatever. At least Dad was home. Had been all winter break, which was neat, but also kinda stressful. School was brutal this time of year too. Just piles of stuff for Sam to worry about.

 

Sam jumped when the front door opened with a loud _bang_. 

 

_“Dad_?” came Dean’s voice, loud and clear. Weird. Wasn’t Dean supposed to be at work? Sam glanced out the window. It was the middle of winter now and the trees out back looked barren and lifeless in the grey chill. 

“In here,” Sam said in answer, eyes moving back to his homework. John was washing his hands at the sink.

“Oh,” Dean appeared in the doorway, clearly in the middle of a thought.

He frowned, moving his hands behind his back. Sam caught sight of bottles. Empty ones.

 

Oh boy.

 

“What’re you doin’ here?” John Winchester said, turning to his oldest son, wiping a towel over his hands. “Merle send you home already? Man’s gettin’ soft in his old age.” 

Sam wasn’t an idiot. He saw the way Dean’s jaw tensed. His brother looked pink from the cold air outside, his leather jacket barely good enough for such weather.

“Sammy,” he said, voice even, controlled. The younger Winchester looked up warily.

“Yeah?” Sam said carefully, biting his pencil. His gaze flicked between Dean and his dad.

“You mind going moving this rodeo somewhere else?”

Sam blinked, “I’m doing my homework-“

“ _Now_ ,” Dean’s eyes flicked to Sam, sharp, message clear. _Amscray._

Sam swallowed, looked at his dad, then scurried out of the room, books and pencils jammed against his chest.

 

He stumbled into his room and threw his school stuff on the bed. No way was he actually going to hide in his room again. No, he had to know what was going on. It took weeks for Dean to unload onto him and Dad, well, he wasn’t gonna say anything. Ever.

 

Sam’s heart thumped in his chest, hands clammy as he crept towards his bedroom door.

 

“You gonna explain this?” Dean’s voice carried. Sam heard a clashing sound, like heavy glass being dumped on wood.

“Excuse me?” John said, voice gruff. 

Sam crouched on the floor in front of his door.

“You know, I came home to get the car. Figured you’d be done with her by now. Someone’s gotta fill her tank.” Sam swallowed. Oh man, Dean was winding up. This was the slow climb.

“The hell is your problem?” John answered, voice lowering dangerously. Dean got that from his Dad, the whole decibels indicating moods thing.

“Seeing as you’re heading out tomorrow,” Dean continued, voice level but strained. “I knew I could have her for the evening, right?”

“You lucky you even get to drive that car, boy. Don’t you smart-mouth me. Get to the point. You have a point, I assume?”

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Dean exploded, making Sam gasp. “ _These_ were all jammed in the footwells. What, now you’re too damn strung out and loaded to even clean up your godforsaken mess, huh?” Glass rattled loudly as if someone had shoved a pile of bottles across the kitchen table. 

Holy crap, Dean was so _mad_. Sam tried to peer through the crack of his door but he couldn’t see anything. The two of them were still in the kitchen.

“Nothing to say, huh?” Dean’s tone was ascerbic, biting. “You smell like cheap ass booze, old man.”

“Now you listen here,” John’s voice rose. Sam could just imagine the face, the pointed finger. “I don’t need to come home to my house, my family and get smart-ass comments from you, Dean.”

“The hell you do!” Dean bellowed. 

“Oh, we’re yelling now, are we?” John retaliated.

Sam was shaking, arms wrapped around his knees.

“You got home at, what, four this morning?” Dean snapped. “You think I didn’t notice the Impala parked out there like a senile blind man drove her over a curb on the way over? Whole passenger side scraped up. Parked by a kid, it looked like.”

Sam swallowed.

John didn’t say anything. Sam heard the scraping of a chair, a kitchen chair.

“Dean,” John began.

“No.” Dean answered sharply. “You’re gonna answer me, damnit. I am not letting this one slide, not like last time, or the time before that. Dad, _what the hell_?”

 

“It’s not a problem,” John said, voice not as loud.

 

“Bull. _Shit,”_ Dean hissed. “You damn -” Dean broke off with a snarl.

“It’s not your car, Dean,” John said.

Shit, even Sam knew that was a dumb comment to make in the middle of something dangerous like this.

“No, it’s not,” Dean snapped. “But you’re my sad excuse for a dad and you could have been run off the road, or arrested, or _killed someone_. Don’t you _get it?_ You’ve wasted how much money on all this pisswater and you couldn’t even have the _decency_ to pass out in some bar. No, you had to hide it, didn’t you? Hide your damn stash. Hide from me, hide from Sammy.” Dean’s voice cracked on that last name. “You’re a damn mess.”

“I’m a mess?” John said. “You think coming home to this is what I need? One boy, smart-mouth,  who ain’t amounting to anything much outside of being a damn mechanic’s bitch and another son who just stares at me like I’m a fucking stranger is what brings me back? You think staying home while you two mosey on off to school all day is what I want?”

“You’re not even making any sense!” Dean yelled. 

“You’re a damn disgrace, boy,” John yelled right back. “Look at you! Standin’ there like you own the place, like you know jackshit about what’s going on outside of this hellhole-“

“You wanna destroy your liver and fuck up your life, _fine,”_ Dean snapped. “But don’t you ever, ever think that drinking up our fucking electric bills and our food budget will get you sympathy points from me! I’m still here and so is Sammy. Mom wouldn’t even know who you are anymo-”

 

A resounding _smack_ echoed across the air. Sam went still. His fingers were coiled into fists, sweaty and small around his knees.

He couldn’t just sit here. He couldn’t pretend everything was okay. He was a part of this family too! So he moved. Quick as a flash, he darted into the hallway and back towards the kitchen.

When he entered, he saw pretty much what he expected. Dean was facing off against his Dad, both their gazes hard. John was two paces away, though, one hand tight against his hip.

Dean’s eyes were dark, sharp and his jaw was set, but Sam could see it. He could see the hurt, the pain in his brother’s eyes.

 

“Don’t you ever-” John growled, looking away.

“What? Talk about Mom? Why not? Because she’s gone? Because we’ll never get her back? Because she would be ashamed of us? Look at us, Dad!”

Dean’s eyes were wide. He threw his arms open. “Look at us.”

John looked up then, brows dark, eyes wet. Sam felt weak, hurt by all this. His father looked at his sons, the only remnants of a wife he lost years ago. The only people left in the world who bore her features, her love.

“I’m sorry,” John breathed, looking away.

“No, you’re not,” Dean said, voice low. Sam could see the pink rising against Dean’s left cheek. Saw swallowed and came to stand beside his brother.

Dean looked at a him then.

“Sammy…” he began.

“No,” Sam said, clutching his brother’s arm. He wasn’t moving.

 

When Sam looked away, he saw his father staring at them again, brows furrowed, eyes forlorn but dark. This was terrible. This happened way too often and it never seemed to be getting any better.

John wiped both hands at his eyes and breathed out heavily.

 

“Get out, the both of you,” he rumbled. “We’re done here. I have to get ready to go.”

 

Sam made to move, but Dean didn’t follow. Dean just stared at their father’s back. Sam wondered what he wanted to say, what Dean was thinking? He may talk the talk but Sam knew this was breaking Dean down, piece by piece. It was probably sheer willpower keeping them upright and together at this point. His big brother was his best friend, his hero and his dad, well, was his dad. Sam couldn’t hate him, but it was getting tougher to convince Dean of the same thing.

 

 

 

—-***—-

 

The next evening.

 

—-***—-

 

Nathan’s birthday was always such a complete wreck of a time. Dean hadn’t _technically_ been invited (not after last year’s mess) but Lisa was, so he got to go. There _were_ perks to having a popular girlfriend.

These parties were legendary, even if only for the fact that Nathan managed to wrangle cases of booze into his backyard, and his parents actually trusted him to party responsibly while they were away.

Jeez, Dean wondered at the kind of lives these kids led.

It was a cold evening, late in January and Dean pulled at his jacket’s collar, trying to beat the chill breeze.

He was standing out back with a bunch of the guys, some of them smoking, most all of them drinking. Dean swigged at his third beer, feeling the best kind of buzz running through his veins. He smushed the can in his hand and tossed it in the already overflowing garbage bag nearby. Classy party.

Ash was already high as a kite and Jo was leaning against some dude from the baseball team. _Tch. Whatever._

Dean needed to piss so he ambled his way back indoors. The music was loud and thumping, an odd remix of some of the grunge alt shit on the market these days. Guess wailing and screeching into a mike consisted as song-writing.

He made it to the guest bathroom and shut the door, thankful for a moment of privacy.

He probably shouldn’t have come. Should have stayed home and watched Star Wars with Sammy again. Their VHS was getting so worn from the repetitive viewings. But hell, he never had time to let loose. He had a full schedule at the garage and had been working so late these last few weeks, he figured he deserved a timeout. It was worth it, always. Seeing as he got Sammy’s extracurriculars paid off and might even have some leftover cash for the new rims his baby would need, Dean wasn’t in too bad of a spot, especially after such a shittastic Christmas. Nothing like family meltdowns and stony, silent Christmas dinners with Dad, Sammy, Bobby and Ellen. Jo, mercifully, had been spared due to her bronchitis.

 

He heard a knock on the door just as he was finishing up.

“Dean? You in there?”

“Yeah, babe,” Dean answered as he washed his hands with some kind of frou-frou mom soap. “Hold on.”

He towelled off and opened the door to find Lisa leaning against the doorframe, waiting.

“Hi,” he said with a grin.

“Hello, handsome,” she said, leaning in for a kiss. “Jo said you’d come inside. Didn’t mean to leave you alone. I was just catching up with Krissy.”

“No problem,” Dean said, pressing in for more pecks. “Been expecting you any minute.”

“Oh?” she breathed, arms going up and around his neck. God, there was nothing like kissing Lisa to ease his tension. Her hands were small and warm against his chilled neck. He pulled her in closer, tugging her warm body into his.

Her breath was light against his lips and he rumbled his appreciation.

“Not here,” she gasped as his hand found its way to her ass. “Dean.”

He grinned, eyes open, watching her as he nipped at her lips.

“Okay then,” and he lifted her up, feeling her legs immediately wrap around his hips.

“ _Dean_ ,” she hissed, “We are not doing this in someone’s parents’ bedroom.” but her words sounded weak as he lipped at her neck. She was wearing that perfume again, the flowery one that itched Dean’s nose. He pulled back.

“I never said anything about a bed,” he said, grinning, and stepping over a myriad of boots and shoes littering the hallway. The alcove just off the side of the garage was where everyone ditched their coats and bags and was the perfectly quiet, dark space for some mackin’.

Dean pressed Lisa into a pile of hanging coats, hands roaming over her hips, her sides. He could feel her tremble, shiver with excitement. They were getting much better at this; A lot less fumbling, a lot more groping. God, she had such a great body. Tiny and curvy and so soft.

Lisa’s lips were full and wet against his own as he tongued her into oblivion, feeling his dick pressing tight in his jeans. So they probably weren’t going to bang right here in some dude’s house (Dean was a gentleman) but they _could_ mess around a bit (not a complete gentleman).

That is, until the side door banged open suddenly, letting in a gust of frigid fucking air and making Lisa yelp.

“Oopsie-daisy!” cried a familiar voice, after some boot stomping, and Dean had to pull his face out of the comfort of Lisa’s neck to glare at the newcomer.

“The fuck, Gabe?” he growled, voice rusty.

Gabriel just waggled his eyebrows and tugged at his massive scarf and coat.

“What’s wrong?” came another voice and Castiel appeared around the door, cheeks pink and a blue wool hat pulled over his head, scarf almost swallowing him up. He looked like one of those freakin’ Russian dolls with the pink lips and big blue eyes. Totally breakable.

Dean’s breath was still heavy where he stood, pinning Lisa to the wall. They probably looked like two horny teenagers rubbin’ up against each other, which is what they were, but still.

Castiel blinked, eyes flicking over Dean and Lisa before they widened comically, finally comprehending. Castiel pushed at his brother urgently. “Sorry, sorry,” he murmured. “We’ll just get out- _out_ of your way.” Dean heard him add, “ _Crap._ ”

“Oh God,” Lisa wailed, covering her face with her hands.

“Aw, come on, bro,” Gabe whined. “Dean-o’s gettin’ some action. We should cheer him on. Round up the dog and pony show. Where are the cheerleaders?”

“Gabriel,” Cas hissed, clearly flustered. “ _Move_.”

And he purposely dragged his brother across the messy alcove, Gabriel whining and waving the whole way. “I hope you’re using protection!” Gabe wailed.

 

Dean closed his eyes and breathed. He looked down at Lisa, not helping the smile that crept across his face.

Lisa was mortified, but she giggled anyway.

“See?” she hissed, swatting at his chest. “This is what happens when you get carried away!”

Dean laughed, “Me? Really?” he slid his leg between her thighs and watched her eyes blink open wider. “We almost had ourselves an audience,” he purred.

He smirked as she blushed and pushed him away. “You perv.”

Dean laughed and tugged at her arm as she walked away from him in a fluster.

 

Probably a good thing it had been Gabe and Cas. They wouldn’t blab about it for weeks with anyone. Dean hated hearing the mundane, shit stories about guys and girls getting caught all over town with their pants down.

He carefully adjusted himself. This would go down. He could wait.

 

—-***—-

 

“Sorry you had to see that,” Dean slurred later that night.

Someone was tugging him out of a car. His car? Whose car? A strong hand pulled his arm over a pair of shoulders.

“Dean, watch your step. There we go,” a calm, deep voice intoned.

Dean tried to watch his feet. The ground was dark and wet and slippy. He giggled. “Where we?”

He asked, certain that those were the correct words he’d intended to use.

“You’re home,” the person said, hefting most of Dean’s weight along the drive. Naw, this wasn’t home.

Dean looked up. Dark hair peeked out of a blue hat.

“Cas? Izzat you? Are you Cas?” Dean’s eyes weren’t blinking at the same time and it was annoying. His breath misted before his nose. Cool.

And yep, Castiel Novak looked at him, all wide eyes and plain-faced.

“Yes, Dean. Come on, move your feet. You weigh as much as an ox.”

“W-wait,” Dean said, pulling back. He got his arm free and stood on his own, wobbling precariously as the world spun. “Where we?”

Cas tilted his head, “We’re home, Dean. I’ve brought you home. Do you always ask the same question ten times when you’re inebriated?”

“Dude,” Dean felt his tongue slip and slide around his teeth. “I had, like, three beers. Thassall.”

Castiel’s brow crooked. “Mmm, and a few rounds of whiskey, courtesy of my very conniving and evil brother.”

“Gabe’s so good. He’s a good guy,” Dean said, blinking and nodding. “Wow, Cas, you got big eyes. Like saucers. Like milk saucers.”

Cas gave a small smile. “And you need bed.” He came forward to grab Dean’s elbow.

“How many times I gotta tell you?” Dean wobbled, pushing at the questing hands. So _many_ fingers. “Take a compliment. You dick.”

Cas’ hands continued to help Dean, so Dean acquiesced and just grabbed Castiel’s fingers with his own. Like when he walked Sam home when they were kids. Cas could walk him home.

“Oh shit,” Dean breathed. “Sammy can’t see me. Me like this. No, No.”

Cas held Dean’s hand firmly, keeping him upright. His brows were furrowed and he looked over at the house.

Dean pulled Cas. “No, Cas. Sam must keep sleeping, okay?”

“Dean, you have to go inside. It’s cold.”

“No,” Dean said as forcefully as he could. Oh God, the world was spinning, the stars were sliding around like insects in a jar. Sammy was home. Sammy mustn’t see…

Dean leaned over suddenly, feeling his abdomen clench painfully.

He vomited loudly and in a very undignified manner, not entirely sure he missed his shoes.

“Ugh,” Dean inhaled, feeling the cold sweats. Fuck. _Fuck._

“It’s okay,” Cas said. “Come on. Up.”

Dean stood shakily, realizing his hand was probably squeezing Cas’ fingers to death.

“Sorry,” he exhaled. “So gross.” He wiped at his mouth. Breathing was so hard.

Cas just came to stand in front of him and zipped up his jacket so the collar stood tall around Dean’s jaw and neck.

“You idiot. I said it’s okay.”

Dean swayed and stared at Cas. “Why you so grown-up?” he asked, throat stinging.

Cas frowned.

“Nevermind,” Dean said. “Ugh.”

“Are you good to go inside?” Cas asked carefully. “Do you have your keys to your house?”

Dean patted his pocket. “This not my house, Cas.” and it wasn’t. He could see it now.

“Bobby’s home. Not my home.”

Cas’ eyes were dark and flicked over Dean’s face. 

“But Sam is inside, yes?”

Dean blinked. He nodded, feeling his head throb. Oh God, it was wearing off.

Cas still had Dean’s hand. He tugged on it. “Then it’s home, Dean. Let’s get you inside, okay?”

Dean was quiet as he watched Cas tug at him, leading him up the drive. Sam inside. Yeah. Bobby too. But not Dad.

 

“Okay,” Cas whispered once they made it up to the front door. “I don’t want you to get in any trouble. So I’m going to open up quietly and will you be okay to get inside?”

Dean just nodded, feeling heavy and cold.

“Okay.”

Somehow Cas had wrangled Dean’s keys from him and managed to open the door. It barely creaked.

It was dark inside, so Cas carefully pulled Dean in, like some kind of spy.

“Okay,” Cas said, turning. “You get to bed. Drink some water if you can. I’m gonna go now, okay?”

Dean nodded as Cas put his keys on Bobby’s entryway table.

Cas scanned his face, clearly nervous about just leaving Dean to possibly choke on his own puke. “I’ll be okay,” Dean rasped, rubbing at his cold and sweaty face. Fuck, what happened?

“I’ll be quiet.”

Cas waited another moment before nodding.

“Lock the door behind me, Dean,” he said as he exited the house with a small wave.

 

And then it was just Dean standing and feeling alone in the dark house.

 

—-***—-


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean learns some things about Cas.

Dean 17 - Sam 13

 

 

“Dean’s sick,” Sam said, pushing his gear into his duffel. “Tummy bug, I think.” 

“I see,” Castiel said. He didn’t mention the fact that Dean’s ‘tummy bug’ was probably not brought on by a virus or bad food. “I have his homework,” he continued calmly, waiting for Sam to finish up. It was warm in the dojo, the heat obviously cranked up to compensate for the miserable weather outside. Cas was sweating under his winter coat.

“Oh!” Sam looked up, eyes wide. “Right. Yeah.” he smirked as he slipped into his own oversized coat, probably bought with the hope that he would grow into it. Going by his growth spurt, Castiel had no doubt the younger Winchester would fill it up eventually. “Don’t expect a thanks or anything. Dean’s not exactly a fan of homework. He might throw a textbook at your face.”

Castiel smiled. “I don’t doubt it.”

 

The two boys headed outside where Gabriel was waiting.

 

“Come on!” Gabe cried when they finally swung into his beat-up car. “I’m freezing my _nuts off_ out here!”

 

“When will you get the heater fixed?” Castiel sighed with a roll of his eyes. It was kind of sad to note that Sam was _expecting_ a frozen metal shell as a back-up plan for getting home.

 

“Hey, you should get Dean to take a look,” Sam said, slamming the backdoor.

“Hey, careful! This is a chariot. A bastion of beauty,” Gabe cried out.

“Gabriel, we’re lucky this thing hasn’t completely fallen apart yet,” Castiel murmured, tucking his hands into his warm coat pockets. _Now_ he was shivering. 

“I mean it,” Sam said. “Dean could fix her up good.”

“Oh, stop,” Gabe muttered, sliding into traffic. “Do I really want that brother of yours whispering sweet nothings to this beaut?” He tapped the steering wheel, then stopped when he felt it jiggle a bit too much. “Okay, maybe.”

 

The ride out to Bobby’s was filled with Sam and Gabe sniping back and forth. Castiel wondered if Gabriel was a good influence on Sam. Clearly the only thing the boy was picking up was a repertoire of snarky comebacks and salacious one-liners. Not that Dean was much better.

 

When the old house finally came into view, Castiel opened up his backpack to gather Dean’s supplies. Dean would probably need all the notes from class. Cas could get them back later.

 

“You gonna be long, or what?” Gabe asked as his brother and Sam got out.

Cas blinked. He wasn’t sure. If Dean was awake, Cas could explain the projects, it may take a while. But if he was out cold, Cas could slip in and out.

“Oh come on, Cas!” Gabe cried out, “I don’t wanna become a human popsicle.”

“Why don’t you come pick him up later?” Sam asked, brows crooked.

“No-go,” Gabe tapped the gas dial. “Can’t fill ‘er up before payday. Which is tomorrow. Soooo, you know.”

Cas sighed. “I’ll be quick.” Dean would have to muddle through.

“Or you can just wait inside, Gabe,” Sam snarked. “Bobby’s not gonna bite.”

“Who’s Bobby again?” Gabe asked Cas.

“ _Gabriel,”_ Cas said. _Don’t be rude,_ was left unsaid.

“Ugh, fine. You dweebs,” Gabe grumbled before yanking his key out of the ignition.

 

 

 

It was toasty warm indoors, for which Cas was eternally grateful.

 

“Come on, I’ll get us some sandwiches,” Sam said, hanging his stuff up in the hallway closet.

“Jeez, look at this place,” Gabriel said with a small whistle. “Old as balls.”

“Say that again,” came a gruff voice.

Cas turned, scarf almost strangling him.

“Do I know you?” the figure before them said. A heavyset, bearded man in a dirty baseball cap was staring them down.

“Oh!” they heard Sam’s cry from somewhere deeper in the house. “They’re friends, Bobby!”

The man eyed them. “Friends, huh?” he growled. “You boys got names, or are am I gonna have to give you some?”

“I’m Shits,” Gabriel said, then pointed a hand at his brother. “and this is my bro, Giggles.”

The man eyed Gabe. Then he snorted.

“Hello,” Castiel said, finally untangling himself. “I am Castiel. That’s Gabriel, my older, but not quite sensible brother. Please excuse him. He was dropped on his head many times as a baby.”

“Down a staircase once,” Gabe added with a wide grin.

“We came to give Dean his homework,” Cas said, lifting the small pile of papers and notes in his hand.

Bobby, as this surely was _the_ Bobby, just peered at Cas like he was some kind of guppy that had flopped out of its bowl. Cas knew scrutiny better than anyone. 

“You want jam?” Sam cried out.

“Hell yes!” Gabe hollered. Cas glared at him. 

“Were you born in a _barn?”_ he hissed.

“In a bathtub, actually. As were you I believe, _mon frére_.”

“All right,” Bobby said, taking a step aside. “Get in there. Stuff yer faces. Or whatever.”

“Awesome,” Gabe said, sauntering towards the kitchen.

“Um,” Cas said, raising his hand of papers again. 

 

“Upstairs,” Bobby said gruffly, with a jab of a thumb. “Idjit’s been in bed all day. Drugged up on meds and feelin’ sorry for himself.”

 

Cas nodded and just assumed he would have to figure his way around the old and creaky home.

He climbed the worn but clean stairs, taking in the pictures and drawings on the walls. There were lots of old and worn photos. People Cas didn’t know, cars he would never recognize.

He paused at one, though. Now _that_ car, he would know a million miles off. A tall man leaned against the chevy, long legs crossed at the ankles, smile easy and warm across his features. On the hood beside him sat a young boy with a broad smile, showing all his teeth. A chubby baby was squeezed between his legs. The young boy’s small hands were holding the child safely. Cas smiled to himself softly. He wondered who had taken the photo, as it was clearly over ten years ago.

 

Once he reached the top it took a bit of wandering to find Dean’s room.

The door was open so Cas didn’t have to wonder about disturbing a privacy-concious teenage boy.

“Hello, Dean,” he said, noticing that the other boy was propped up against the wall, blankets wrapped around him with socked feet dangling over the side of the bed.

Dean looked up. Seems he’d been staring off into space.

A mug of something and a packet of pills sat on his flimsy bedside table which Cas thought looked sneakily like a some cardboard boxes with a cloth thrown over.

“Cas?” Dean croaked, blinking.

Cas felt worry etch into his brow. He hadn’t been expecting this.

“Oh, you _are_ sick,” he murmured, coming into the room. Now he felt bad about assuming it was all about a hangover.

Dean’s hair was a fright, all messy and spiked up as though he’d been sweating through his sheets and tossing and turning. His eyes were a little bleary and his nose was pink from too many nose-blows.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean coughed, voice crusty and sinuses all clogged up. “Feel like shit.”

Cas came forward, eyes roving over the sparsely filled room. It was suprisingly tidy, but that may have more to do with the fact there was hardly any furniture.

“How’s your head?” Castiel asked, eyes focusing again on his friend. Dean’s skin had a soft shine and weak pallor.

“Ugh,” Dean looked away and pulled his feet up and under his nest of covers.

Cas felt a bit awkward. “I brought your homework.”

Dean wasn’t looking at him. 

“Thanks,” he murmured.

Castiel stared at Dean. Clearly he did not want to talk about his late night out.

“Well, anyway,” Cas said, laying down the sheets of paper on the end of the bed. “I hope you get better.”

Dean looked back at him, those shiny green eyes critical, wary.

“Did you drive me home?” he asked, voice rough. 

Cas was surprised. 

 

“Yes. I borrowed Gabriel’s car.”

 

Dean eyed him. 

 

“We got your keys and drove the Impala back after I’d dropped you off. Much later, though.”

 

Dean continued to stare.

 

“I - I hope that’s okay,” Cas said. Sometimes he felt himself curl away from Dean. It was difficult to gauge things like this. Cas was unsure of this friendship. Unsure if that really _was_ what it was. Sometimes he and Dean connected and everything was fine. Other times it felt like it used to; like they were strangers who shared the same town. Two different boys who weren’t supposed to cross paths. Maybe were just faking their way through friendship.

Sometimes Dean would look at him and Cas felt like the other boy was surprised to see him beside him, across from him, talking to him. Like, how did he get there without Dean’s explicit permission?

 

“I was pretty messed up, huh?” Dean said.

 

Cas stared right back. He tilted his head. “You were a bit, yes. Perhaps not ‘messed up’ though. More like drunk and tired.”

 

Cas wondered if Dean recalled their talk outside this very house. 

 

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said roughly, looking away again. Cas understood the other boy wasn’t fond of ‘feelings’ or admitting to anything. “Got sick from it all too.”

 

“It was very cold and you do not wear enough in winter.”

 

Dean smiled then looked up. He wiped at his nose. For an oversize seventeen year old, he certainly could appear innocent and sickly.

 

“Here,” Cas said, pulling something from his pocket.

 

“Oh,” Dean said, hand snaking out.

Cas dropped the lone key into Dean’s palm. “I had to get it off your keyring. You needed the other keys to get home, I thought.”

“Huh,” Dean sniffed. “Didn’t even notice.”

 

Cas smiled.

 

“I’ll leave you be now,” Cas said, stepping back. “You should get better.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Dean just breathed, eyes unfocusing again.

 

When the Novaks finally left after Gabriel had stuffed his face with too many cheese sandwiches, Castiel couldn’t help the stone of worry settling into his gut.

 

—-***—-

 

Days later.

 

___

 

January 24th. Dean was officially eighteen years old. An adult, a grown man.

Jo and Ellen and Bobby were taking him and Sam out to the local steakhouse to celebrate.

Then he and Jo were planning to head over to Ash’s to hang out. Maybe if Dean had more friends, he’d be having a party.

 

Dinner was amazing. He got to order the ten ounce steak, curly fries and enough ketchup to drown a small country.

Sam had already given him his birthday present that morning, when Dean was barely awake.

A new plaid shirt, of all things, which Sam said was cool.

Dean was wearing it to dinner, supremely happy to note that it was soft and comfy and not much like his usual ratty tees and tanks.

Ellen and Jo surprised him with a slew of rare records from the likes of Skynyrd, Metallica and Queen (‘cos who doesn’t love Queen?)

His record collection wasn’t very large, but these would be great additions to the mix.

After dinner, Bobby had taken Dean outside under the pretence of checking the truck over. What Dean hadn’t been expecting was a new transmission for his baby. 

His face must have said it all because Bobby just gave him a slap on the back and a rumble of ‘You’re welcome, boy.” 

“But I’d been saving up–“ Dean began.

“I know, that’s why I got it. Figured you deserved something you didn’t have to work too hard for.

Dean hadn’t expected a new one, his car would manage for much longer without it, but this, this was too good for him.

“I can’t–“ he started.

“If you say one word against this gift, I will knock your teeth clean outta your skull.”

Well, yeah. Okay.

Dean swallowed, feeling a heavy weight in his chest. He was saving up because he knew it’d be a while before he could afford this. He’d been more focused on paying for Sam’s stuff, getting Sam ready for school, for karate, for baseball, that Dean hadn’t been too bothered with what he wanted. This was so _Bobby_ in every way.

“Thanks,” he muttered thickly, watching as a blanket was pulled over the gift.

“We can get started on soon,” Bobby said. “Nice little project to keep you ticking over.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

He didn’t hear a thing from his Dad. Figures, really.

 

—-***—-

 

It was cold as shit outdoors.

“God,” Dean grumbled, pulled his jacket in tighter against himself. He’d nabbed one of Sam’s scarves to offset the chill on his neck and ears.

Jo walked beside him, chattering as always. She, at least, was smart enough to wear a hat and gloves. Damn, winter _sucked_.

 

“So, how’s Lisa?” Jo asked perkily, bouncing beside him as they walked.

Ash’s place wasn’t too far away from Ellen’s so they figured a stroll wouldn’t kill them. Dean questioned that every second, every step.

“Huh?” Dean asked, blinking.

Jo looked up at him. “Lisa? Your girl of the week?”

“Week? Man, your grasp of time is way off.”

“Year, week, whatever,” Jo waved her mitted hands about. 

Dean was never sure what Jo thought of Lisa. They seemed to get along, but Dean knew that they weren’t necessarily on the same wavelength. Jo was more interested in the Super Bowl and how to mix drinks than in homework and pets. Lisa had three dogs. Jo had had a hamster once. Once.

Dean shrugged. “She’s good. Why?”

Jo peered at him, which made Dean wonder what was up. “No real reason. You know she’s in my Bio class?”

Dean didn’t take Bio, thank Christ. It was basically Chem 2.0 and he hated Chemistry. It was like greek to him. Typical little miss superstar over here was in a year ahead.

“Yeah? So?”

“Well, she’s paired with Cas. You know Cas? Tall, dark hair, big blue eyes like an angel? Smells like strawberry cheesecake?” Jo smiled wide and tilted her head in a fair approximation of Castiel.

“You going somewhere with this?” Dean huffed, shoving his chin deeper into Sam’s scarf.

Jo shrugged. “Not really. Just that they’re super cute together. Which is odd, ya know?”

Dean cocked a brow at her. “This supposed to be some jealousy ploy, missy?”

Jo laughed, “Naw, just that Lisa’s actually really sweet with him. I mean, they’ve been lab partners two years in a row. Like, she doesn’t mind working with him. It’s nice. Lisa’s nice.”

That wasn’t strange, though, was it? Dean knows Lisa’s nice. She’s a freakin’ saint. She volunteered at the local animal shelter. She wanted to be a veterinarian, wanted to save all the animals. She was fond of Sam and thought he was a mini-Dean (hilarious). She was popular and nice and yeah. Nice.

“Are you trying to say _you_ like Lisa?” Dean said with a smirk that was hidden in grey wool.

“Gross,” Jo said. “No. I mean, she’s hot and all–“

“ _Yea_ uh,” Dean said, leer like a joke in his voice.

Jo punched his arm. “Shut it. You’re misunderstanding me, idiot. I _mean,_ like not everyone’s nice to Cas.”

Dean looked over at the shorter girl. She had this _look_ on her face. 

“Well, he is a weird, dorky little guy,” Dean added.

“Dean, he’s knockin’ on five eleven. Pretty sure he’s gonna be a giant.”

Dean snorted. “You say that about Sam too.”

“Hey, Sam’s got the potential, doofus. And stop trying to change the topic.”

Jo glared up at Dean in the least threatening way possible.

“Lisa’s really nice to Cas. Which, going by my moral compass–“

“Your _what?”_ Dean interrupted.

“–says a lot of good stuff about that girl of yours.” Jo pushed on. “Just saying, I’m glad you’re not dating any of those cherry chapstick, slut-shaming skankbags you used to mack on.”

“Pretty sure ‘skankbags’ ain’t very feminist of you, Jo.”

“Shut up.”

Dean snorted again.

So this was Jo’s roundabout way of saying that maybe Dean didn’t have shit taste in relationships after all. Lord knows his lead-up attempts hadn’t been too promising. Lisa was pretty damn fantastic. Except she wasn’t here for his birthday either. Some kind of family thing out west. She’d promised a present when she got back, but it still kinda sucked. Things had a been a little weird since Nate’s party. From what Dean gathered, he’d made an ass of himself after getting too drunk. Lisa had gotten a ride home with a girlfriend, after Gabriel and Dean had started some kind of stripshow on Nate’s kitchen table fiasco. _God._

Guess she hadn’t much liked him as a messy drunk. Surpise.

But she was patient anyway. Being sick hadn’t helped and the catch-up on homework had sucked balls. Never let it be said that Dean wasn't grateful for his nerdy little brother who could help Dean read through Cas’ chicken scratch notebooks.

 

Or maybe Jo liked _Cas?_ He stared at his friend, scrutinizing. “Jo Harvelle, you saucy devil. Do you have a hard-on for Castiel Novak?”

Jo looked up and rolled her eyes. “No, Dean. Jeez.”

“Why the hell not, huh? Come on, you can tell uncle Dean.”

“Ew, creepy old man uncle. No, no, dude. Cas is so not my type.”

Dean blew a raspberry which failed as his mouth was muffled. He pulled the scarf down and repeated the action. “I don’t think I believe you. What’s your type?”

“Nothing, nevermind, jackass.”

She blushed and looked away. 

“Well, I bet Cas would be a good boyfriend, or whatever.” Dean said.

Jo looked back at him, eyes peering out from under her hat.

“I am not in love with Cas.”

“All right,” Dean raised both hands. “Just sayin’.”

 

—-***—-

 

Ash and Jo made his birthday worthwhile. Being eighteen didn’t have to be all fear and loathing. He had good friends, Dean was sure. But it was changing. He couldn’t help feeling it deep inside. Everything was changing.

 

At midnight, Dean found himself walking home. Jo had decided to crash with Ash as they had a project or something planned. Weirdoes. He was familiar with the area at least, spent most of his life wandering these streets.

The auto shop wasn’t too far away.

 

He had his job. He had school. But school would be over soon. A handful of months and Dean was expected to transition out of this routine. What were his plans? Hell. he didn’t know.

He wasn’t made for college. He didn’t even know how anyone could afford that shit. He could pick up more hours at the auto shop, though. Save up. Maybe spend more time at the salvage yard. Help Bobby out. Lisa wanted to go to college. She kept pushing for Dean to apply. Like hell that was happening.

She wanted him to go with her, out west. Go to a good school, get a degree in _something_ , aim higher. Get an apartment, grow up, experience life. Dean laughed at her attempts. He wasn’t meant for _higher._ He was fine right where he was. Plus, he’d never leave Sammy, never.

Not with the way things were going with Dad.

 

Dean walked along, hands jammed into his jacket. At least it was a clear, quiet night. 

He walked along the main road. The twenty-four hour superstore was still open, lighting up the oversized parking lot like a starburst. Dean cut across the lot, aiming for the connecting street. Not many cars littered the lot. Mostly employees, probably.

 

As he walked, he heard a strange sound. Voices rose up from somewhere nearby.

The lot was so large, Dean could guess from behind which car the voices came.

A thud reverberated across the open space. The hell?

 

Dean moved warily, walking a straight line through the massive parking lot. The voices grew louder. Laughter. He finally was far enough along that if he just looked to his left, he would see who was causing the ruckus. Twenty feet separated him from some guys. Dean paused, eyes trying to see without drawing any attention to himself.

 

He could hear them now. Three men, no, boys, were pressing another guy against the largetruck; definitely high schoolers. God, that mean Dean would probably recognize them. 

 

Some kind of disagreement, it seemed; none of his business.

“You’re not gonna say anything are you?” One of the boys said, leaning into the person he had pressed to the vehicle. “Gonna just stand there, like a freak.”

“You like to take it, huh?” another guy drawled. “You would.”

The boy pressed to the car kicked out suddenly, nailing the one in front in the shin. The guy howled and stepped back.

“You fucking fag!” the guy yelled. 

The other two stepped back laughing.

“Still not saying anything, huh?” the dude to his right said. “Gotta speak at some point, princess.”

“Guys like you really are princesses, you know,” the dude on the left said. “Bending over for everyone, that’s what.”

 

Dean’s fist clenched. This was not good. None of his business, still. He should move on. Dicks like this? Not his concern.

 

“You Novaks always gotta play hardball,” the main guy said before clicking his tongue.

Dean’s head shot up just as the dude threw a fist.

The boy against the car thudded back, head slamming against the car window. He slipped down the vehicle, legs giving way as a groan escaped. It was then that Dean caught a glimpse ofdark hair.

“What did you say?” the douche on the right hissed.

“I said,” came a dry, deep voice. “Go fuck yourself.”

 

“What? And not let you at me, Novak? Really, how weird you d—“

 

The guy didn’t get to finish his thought before he was body slammed so hard he flew to the side, knocking his friend over. The two boys crashed to the cold, hard ground with a few yelps. 

 

“The fuck?” number three yelled, clearly off-balance when Dean swung left, fist connecting with his gut.

 

“You pieces of shit,” Dean hissed. His teeth were gritted, face furious. “You _stupid_ ,” he kicked at the guy, causing him to roll over and away with a yelp. “pieces of _shit!”_ Dean all but bellowed. He saw one of the other two stumbling to his feet. When Dean stormed towards him, the guy threw up his hands. “Whoa! Whoa! Hold up!”

Dean ignored him and shoved him, hard. The boy fell back. “Hold up? Fuck _you_.”

Dean’s voice was brittle and cold. God, he was seeing red. He was _livid._ This was _not_ okay. Never okay. Not allowed. EVER.

 

He turned and bent down to drag at one guy’s shirt, heaving him to his feet.

“Dude!” the guy yelled before Dean glared into his face. “Winchester! Stop! Dude, we’ll go. We’ll go!”

“I ought to smash my fist right through your thick-ass piece of shit skull.” Dean hissed, eyes flashing. The guy was vaguely familiar. Baseball guy. Or something. He knew Dean, at least.

“Okay, okay, got it,” the guy winced.

“Jesus,” Dean heard one of the others breathe.

“Like he said, we’ll go,” the other added.

Dean eyed the tool in front of him, disgust more than apparent on his face. “Get the fuck out of here.” he snapped, letting go. The boy dropped and stumbled back. He scowled at Dean.

Dean watched them gather themselves, eyes flicking between them. They backed away warily, not daring to look at Cas who was getting to his feet.

 

Cas. Fuck.

 

“You’re lucky your boyfriend came to save you,” one of the assholes hissed.

When Dean made to move, they all yelped and fled, like the wusses they were. Scumbags.

 

Dean’s fists were tight against his sides. He could feel his heart thumping, his anger palpable. He was shaking, he knew. His jaw clenched tightly, brain running a mile a minute. _Those fuckers._

 

“Dean.”

 

The Winchester turned, not aware of the cold breeze against his face.

 

Cas stood there, dressed in a thick hoody and torn jeans.

“What the fuck was that?”Dean breathed, barely able to control the level of his voice. “Cas.”

 

The Novak looked aside, to where the boys had fled. He shrugged. “Nothing too out of the ordinary.”

 

_What?_

 

Dean’s brows furrowed and his vision blurred as the rage, the anger washed over him. Fuck, he was going to grind his teeth down to nubs. He was gonna fucking _kill_ those assrags. Nothing else would fix this. Pieces of filth and garbage and trash!

 

He moved forward, limbs stiff. He stared at his friend. “Shit, Cas,” he hissed, noticing the shiner blossoming on Castiel’s cheek, right below his eye. “You got a split lip, there.” 

Cas licked his lips, clearly tasting blood. He shrugged again. It must hurt.

 

Why was Cas–what was he–?

 

“Not everyone understands that autonomy comes with personal choices,” Cas murmured, blinking at Dean like he didn’t have a busted face.

 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Dean breathed, trying to calm himself.

 

Cas tilted his head like it was any old day in the park. “Trevor Marsh, he thought I was coming onto him.” Cas shrugged. “I wasn’t, but that doesn’t stop repressed males from taking it out on people like me because they’re uncomfortable with the concept.”

 

“People like you?” Dean asked, mind flashing back to what Jo had said. Sure, Cas was odd, but he was _Cas._ Harmless, thoughtful, strangely funny Cas. Cas was quiet and smart, but he wasn’t a fucking loser! Only asswipes picked on guys like Cas. Weak, aggressive morons.

 

Cas stared at Dean. “Somewhat gay, I believe, is the term Gabriel supplied once. Not completely homo, slightly hetero, not exactly walking the line.”

 

“You telling me those dickbags have done this before? Because if they have, I swear, I’ll–“

“You’re angry,” Cas said, noticing Dean’s fists clenching and unclenching.

“Fucking right,” Dean whispered, jaw so tense he thought he might pop a blood vessel. “no one should be fucking with you–“

“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas murmured.

 

No.

 

“Bullshit! Why didn’t you TELL ME?” Dean blasted suddenly, reaching forward. 

 

Cas blinked, not stepping back. “That I’m gay?”

 

Dean blinked. “What?” He frowned darkly, eyes flicking across Cas’ bruised face.

 

“I thought you knew–“ Cas began.

 

“No! What? The hell? _No!_ You idiot!” Dean’s mind went crazy with the onslaught of information. “Why didn’t you tell me those morons were giving you the smack down? Has this been going on the whole time? How long?” _Jesus,_ Dean was going to explode.

“Long enough,” Cas said calmly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean repeated, voice rough. His eyes went wide as he grabbed Cas’ shoulders. “Cas, why didn’t you _tell me?”_ He wanted to throw a tantrum, wanted to smash something, but it was too much. Everything was a mess. Dad was being a dick. Dean was eighteen and had no prospects. School was hell on wheels and Cas was being beaten by fuckos on the regular. Harmless, easy-going Cas who would let a bee walk all over his sandwich rather than shoo it away because ‘bees are beautiful and helpful creatures, Dean.’

 

Cas’ eyes were wide now, staring back at Dean with something akin to shock.

“Dean…” he said softly.

“ _Why didn’t you tell me_?” Shit, Dean could feel how wide his own eyes were, could feel the terror in his veins, the anger, the tears. Shit, he couldn’t _cry now_.

 

He just reached forward and pulled Cas to him, drowning him in his arms. 

 

“Dean?” Cas said again.

 

“You stupid idiot,” Dean huffed, eyes now closed tight, brows drawn. “You should have said something. This is not okay. Not fucking okay.”

 

Cas’ hands came up to touch Dean’s back.

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into Dean’s shoulder, clearly confused by this reaction.

 

“Don’t say sorry. Why are you saying sorry? God, I swear-” Dean said, exasperated. He pulled back. “Where’s your scarf?” Dean covered his feelings with a scowl. “You’re gonna freeze.”

 

“I-“ Cas began but was cut off when Dean wrapped his own scarf around that scrawny neck.

 

“Idiot,” Dean said. “Let’s get you fixed up.” He stepped back and avoided looking at his friend.

 

“Okay,” Cas answered, bafflement clear on his face.

 

—-***—-

 

“What on earth?” Selene Novak said, opening the door to her son and his friend. “Castiel, what happened to your face?” She was horrified.

 

“Nothing, nothing,” Cas said, pushing past her into the house. “Don’t worry, Mom.”

 

“Worry?” she sounded aghast. “Why would I not worry when my youngest son comes home withbruises and is bleeding all over himself?”

 

“Mom, please,” Cas said, turning. His eyes were clear. “No questions.”

Selene watched her son walk away before turning.

“Hello, Dean,” she said belatedly. “Please come in. I suppose.”

“Hi,” the tall boy mumbled. He nudged at his boots, trying to get them off. “I won’t be long.”

Selene blinked. 

 

She led her son’s guest into the kitchen where Cas was pulling out band-aids from her kitchen first-aid kit.

“Castiel,” she said, coming to turn her son towards her. She looked up at him, eyes flicking over his injuries. “Tell me what happened.”

“No,” Cas said calmly. He held up a cotton ball.

Selene sighed and took it. Why were her children so headstrong?

“I will get it out of you,” she said, soaking the ball in antiseptic. “Sit.”

Castiel sat on one of the kitchen bar stools. “Dean, feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

“I’m good,” the other boy rumbled.

 

Dean watched Cas’ mom fix him up. He saw her wipe at the dried blood, at the cut in his lip. It was swollen and Cas winced at the antiseptic touch. His cheekbone was swollen too, darkening by the minute. It must have been painful, right on the cheekbone.

Dean’s jaw clenched. 

Why wasn’t Cas explaining this? God, if Dean showed up with busted chops, Bobby wouldn’t let him outta his sight without names, addresses and shallow graves ready to go. Dean would do the same with Sam, should it ever happen. Which is probably why Sam never let it happen, ‘cos then his brother would be in prison for five to ten.

 

God, Cas made no sense!

 

“Dean?” Selene said softly, apparently having turned and eyed him. “You seem tense.”

“Mom,” Cas warned.

“No, if you won’t say anything, I will,” Dean started. Selene blinked at him. Cas, beside her, looked up.

“Dean, don’t.”

“No, shut up,” Dean snapped. “Cas was being … bullied, I guess. That’s the word they use, isn’t it? Bullying?” Dean’s voice rose substantially. “I call it ‘having the shit beaten out of him by three pieces of fuck-ass crap bastards who were probably lookin’ to get off on this kinda stuff.” He was breathing heavily. Selene stared at him.

Dean cleared his throat. Shit. “Excuse my language,” he murmured. God, he was like a bull in a china shop.

 

Selene Novak looked him over, then turned to her son.

“Is this true, Castiel?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “It’s not a big deal, Mom.”

“Castiel,” her voice was hard. “Do not tell me that my son, by baby bird, is being physically assaulted by other brutes and that it is _not a big deal_. Were you going to tell me? At all?”

 

She touched his face. Dean looked down.

“Mom,” Cas said. “I don’t want you to worry.”

Selene huffed a breath. “I will always worry about you. Forever. Until I’m six feet under, dear boy, I will _worry_. And don’t you forget it. Does your brother know?”

Cas looked aside.

Dean leaned on the counter. “Gabe _knew? Are you fucking kidding me?”_

Cas rolled his eyes and looked at Dean. “He doesn’t know about this time, obviously. My brother, he … well, he’s not the most sensible person when it comes to dealing with people larger than himself.”

 

Selene rubbed at her eyes.

“I have sideshow acts for sons. Okay, well. You need rest. We will talk about this in the morning.”

“I should get going,” Dean murmured.

“I’ll walk you out,” Selene said.

Cas opened his mouth to retaliate but shut it at her look. “Stay,” she said firmly.

 

When Dean opened the front door, he sighed. 

“Thank you for bringing him home, Dean,” Selene said as he turned. She was so tiny but he could see a fire in her eyes. “My son can be a bit stubborn at times.”

Dean took a deep breath. “I wish I’d been there sooner, though. Just caught them in the act, you know?” He felt guilty standing before her. He could have helped better.

“You stopped them?” She asked, eyes wide. “how many of them were there?”

“Three,” Dean said with a shrug. “Cowards. Like that’s a fair fight.”

Selene Novak just eyed him, taking in his stiff stance, his defensive expression.

Then she moved forward, reached up and touched a palm to each of his cheeks, holding his face firmly. Dean startled.

“Thank you,” she said kindly. “Thank you for looking out for my little boy. He stopped telling me about these sorts of things years ago. I thought he was just growing up, learning to avoid people like that. Apparently, he’s just a good liar. I’m very glad you are his friend.”

Dean flushed. God, she was being so _nice._ Jeez.

“Um, sure,” Dean said, embarrassed beyond all mean. “Well, you know.”

She stepped away. 

 

Lights lit up the garage beside the front steps and Dean turned.

Gabe’s red VW rolled into the driveway.

“Get home safe, Dean,” Cas’ mom said warmly as he made his way down the front steps.

“Dean-o!” Gabe said, clambering out of his car. “What up, man? You here for more of _my_ pie?”

Dean smiled weakly. “Headin’ home,” He said with a nod. “See ya round, Gabe.”

“Sure,” Gabe sounded puzzled as Dean walked away down the sidewalk. He didn’t want to be around for the rest of this mess to unfold.

He could do with the walk, though. Maybe ease his blood pressure. “Damnit,” he grumbled, feeling the chill against his neck. Cas still had Sammy’s scarf. 

 

Dean did a U-turn and was about to head back up the street but thought better of it when all he heard echoing across the night air was a very loud, very audible bellow of “WHAT? THOSE SONS OF BITCHES!”

 

 

—-***—-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos'! 
> 
> Also, please excuse any spelling/grammatical errors. I will attempt to fix any I spot. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, this Lawrence, Kansas, is completely fictional, so as to ease my mind. I know nothing about Kansas, so I apologize for sounding like an idiot in writing about it. Believe in fake-Kansas!

**Dean: 18 -Sam: 13**

 

 

It was the second week in February when Dean had been at the house. Every few days he had to go back to get clothing, or swap out some books for others, or dig around in the garage for some tool or other. Other times it was to just tidy the place, make sure the dust that settled wasn’t turning everything grey. Dean hadn’t once thought of moving back in, even while Dad was away.

It didn’t seem quite right.

Bobby made sure the bills were being paid, which at least meant that John was sticking to his end of their broken-ass deal.

It wasn’t a very big home, but it had always been just that: home. 

Dean had been out clearing the porch, shoving ice and hardened snow around. It wouldn’t do to have the place look abandoned. Their luck seemed to be holding out, but he wasn’t too bothered about squatters. So long as he cleared the mailbox and tossed out the pile of neighborhood newspapers, all would be fine.

It was the second week in February when he’d looked up to find a police officer at the foot of the driveway, decked out in an official winter coat and hat.

 

It was the second week in February when he was told by an absolute, stone-cold stranger with concern in her unfamiliar eyes, that his father was never coming home.

 

—-***—- 

 

A week went by with no sign of Dean at school.

 

He wondered how long it would take before someone showed up on his doorstep.

 

Lisa had called a few days in and Dean had to drag himself through a horrible, unrelenting conversation with her. _No, he was fine. No, she shouldn’t come over. Yes, he knew she was so sorry. She wished she could help._

Lisa had met John a whopping _one_ time and it had been awkward and unplanned and never to be repeated. She hadn’t known the man. No one had.

Hell, the sympathy choked him more than anything else.

It was late one evening and Dean had been sitting in Sam’s room, the two of them sharing his walkman, listening to Zep on repeat. Neither felt like eating. 

Bobby knocked and came in.

“You got a visitor,” he intoned calmly.

Bobby was a saint. Dean didn’t know how he did it. Didn’t know what made him who he was. Dean never asked, never questioned Bobby’s one-off comments about his own father. When John fucked up, Bobby let him know what he thought of it. Dean knew that came from somewhere.

 

“Dean,” Sam said, tugging at his brother’s sleeve. Dean had scooted forward off the small twin bed.

 

“I’ll be right back,” Dean said, patting his brother’s socked foot.

 

He followed Bobby downstairs, annoyance already flaring in his chest. He didn’t want to see anyone, didn’t want to talk.

 

Bobby headed to the kitchen as Dean shuffled into the foyer to meet his guest.

 

“Cas?” Dean blinked, clearly surprised.

 

The other boy turned from looking at a framed certificate on the wall.

 

“Hello, Dean,” his still-deepening voice rumbled. He smiled. “I have brought your school notes for the classes you missed. Lisa mentioned you were unwell. Though I only found out yesterday. My apologies for being late.” 

Yesterday was … shit, Dean didn’t know. Thursday? Friday?

 

Shit. Dean couldn’t do this right now. He didn’t want to.

 

“Hey, uh, let’s talk outside,” Dean said, throat chafing. God, he hadn’t spoken to anyone aside from Sam and Bobby in days.

Ellen organized shit, Bobby dealt with shit and Dean? Dean froze up and buried shit; The deeper, the better.

 

The air was chilly but not filled with blustery wind, thank God. Dean would be all right in his sweater and jeans.

 

Dean directed Cas to the porch chairs. They were worn and crusty and cold, so they were fine. 

 

Dean looked out over the orange scrub dirt, highlighted in the sun’s setting light as it glanced through the mist. Bobby’s place was so quiet this time of year. The trees were bare, the ground cold and hard; animals dead or hiding. It felt right. Something had to.

 

“Dean,” Cas said, lodging Dean out of his thoughts.

He looked up warily. He wanted to say it, wanted to blurt it all out, but his mouth was dry and his throat ached.

 

“Dean?” Cas’ voice took on another tone. Worry, or surprise; perhaps both. “You seem … uncomfortable? Are you still sick?”

 

Cas was trying to read him, the idiot. Cas was the worst at reading people. Sometimes he got it spot-on, but most of the time, the kid was way off on signals.

 

“I’m not sick, Cas,” Dean laughed hollowly. “I wish.”

 

There was a tapping sound behind them and both twisted to see a rustle of movement behind the front window’s net curtains.

The front door opened suddenly and Sam stepped out, long hair a mess and an oversized hoody drowning the lanky boy, making him look all of ten again.

Fuck, if Cas couldn’t read faces well, at least Sam ladled it on thick.

The younger boy rushed forward, face already breaking. “Cas!” he said, voice broken. Dean wanted to die. The way Sam just stumbled towards the other boy, fully expecting a ring of warm arms to fall around him, made Dean’s chest clench. “ _Cas._ ”

“Sam?” Cas said softly, bewildered, his neck slotting over Sam’s shoulder. The younger Winchester threw his arms around Cas and buried his face in Cas’ neck, words muffled and wet and snotty.

Dean couldn’t make out any actual sentences, but he knew what Sam meant.

Knew how Sam had been since the news.

Cas looked up at Dean, eyes pale, brows furrowed suddenly. Shit, Dean could see it. The sympathy, the realization.

Sam continued his muffled sobbing, legs splayed over Cas’ lap like some wayward child.

Cas meant comfort, at least, which almost had Dean smile. Sam wasn’t like this with anyone else apart from his brother. Dean kept it together. He had to. Sam had a harder time, but still. He may be thirteen going on fourteen, but he wasn’t a Goddamn machine.

 

Cas patted Sam’s back and murmured gently, clearly a little thrown by the dramatics but willing to hold strong. Poor guy. Shouldn’t have come to visit.

Dean waited for the usual words. The “I’m sorry”s the “it’s gonna be all right” garbage. It all sounded hollow to Dean. Was also the main reason why he’d asked Lisa not to pass it on. Dean didn’t want their fucking fake sympathy.

Cas just continued to rub circles in Sam’s back. 

When Sam pulled back, Dean could see a wet patch on Cas’ right shoulder. 

“Sammy,” Dean said, tugging at his brother’s arm. “You good?”

He felt like a bastard for asking. He knew Sammy wasn’t good, wouldn’t be for a while.

But dammit all if the boy didn’t just nod and wipe at his face. He scooted back and stood up. “Sorry,” he mumbled at Cas.

“Don’t be,” Cas answered. “Don’t ever be sorry for being sad. You have every right.”

Dean tilted his head away.

“You want a … a drink, or something?” Sam asked, clearing his throat.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Cas said.

Dean shook his head at his brother. Then he nudged the boy’s knee. “Go on. Inside. I won’t be long.”

“Cas can come inside-“ Sam began as he headed to the door.

“ _Sam,_ ” Dean said, brow cocked. “Inside.”

 

And the other boy went, the faint click-nudge of the door sounding after him.

 

When Dean finally turned back to Cas, he was met with what he dreaded most: sad, wide unrelentingly blue eyes and dark brows pulled tighter than he’d ever seen.

“Cas, don’t,” Dean said, rolling his eyes skyward.

 

“What happened?” Cas asked softly.

 

_We’re screwed, we’re royally fucked. We’re gonna lose the house. We ain’t got two bucks to burn. I’m fucking man of the house, sole breadwinner, now._ He wanted to say all these things and a whole lot more.

 

Dean blinked up at the cold stars. “He’s dead,” his voice was hollow, distant.

“Your father?” Cas murmured.

“Yeah,” Dean breathed, feeling the cold air chill his lungs.

“I’m-“ Cas began before Dean cut him off with an exhaled breath.

“Don’t say you’re sorry for my loss, okay? It doesn’t make it better.” He was a total dick for saying it.

Cas was silent.

“Just …” Dean breathed, closing his eyes. 

 

There was no funeral. Just a family meeting at Bobby’s, a sad dinner with what was left of their ‘family’. Why was Dean surprised to find out that John Winchester had accumulated zero friends in the time since his wife had died? Bobby, Ellen and Jo, Dean and Sam.

 

That was it.

 

Fucking pathetic. Stupid, sad and pathetic.

 

There was no grave. Not only because the truck collision had all but destroyed what was left of John Winchester’s whiskey-sodden body, but because - _goddamnit_ \- they couldn’t _afford_ one. The reality of the cost of dying seemed an unjust and cruel punishment for those left behind. No grave, no coffin, no fancy dying tux, nothing. Just a cardboard box and a yes or no to a pot of his father’s fucking _ashes_ , like Dean had any reason to keep such a thing. Mom hadn’t had a grave either, which now suddenly made a whole lot of sense to Dean. Was there really no grace or dignity left for the dirt-poor families? Not like John would have wanted a church burial or funeral. He wasn’t religious, not by anyone’s standards. Dean wondered in the back of his mind what a priest would say about John. What made up bullcrap would help strangers feel solace in the passing of a man they never knew, a family they felt odd pain for.

Dean told Cas all of this in a rush of words. He hadn’t said it out loud, not all at once. Ellen and Bobby handled most of the legal stuff. The estate, the will, the guardianship of Sammy. They covered it all. Were covering it all. Dean listened, of course. They wouldn’t be able to drag him away from any of it. But it made him sick. Reducing a grown man, a father, to a bunch of legal documents and dry, outdated passport photos and signatures.

 

He told Cas about having to drive back to Bobby’s alone, to having to tell Sammy, about having to roll up a plastic fucking bag in the glove compartment of the Impala because that’s all the damn cops had needed to transport John’s possessions in. A plastic bag. Not even a box.

 

Cas listened. Cas watched, and Dean wouldn’t look at him. He knew he couldn’t. Why would anyone wanna listen to this crap? Out of sheer sympathy? _God._

 

“Stupid old man,” Dean sighed, lowering his chin. 

 

He felt leaden and hollow all at once. He had to move.

Dean stood up. “Sorry you had to hear that like this, Cas,” Dean rumbled, clearing his throat.

When Cas stood too, Dean was forced to finally look at his friend.

Cas’ stare was solid. His blue eyes flicked between Dean’s eyes, seeing God-knows-what.

 

“You get a ride from Gabe?” Dean asked, tamping down his bleeding heart. Cas nodded slowly. “Oh, and you got notes for me?”

Cas tugged his satchel around and pulled out a sheaf of papers.

Dean took the papers, knowing full well he wouldn’t read a word.

“Thanks, man.” He ambled around the deck and opened up the front door, depositing the notes on the foyer table. “You need a ride home?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.

“I said I’d call Gabriel if Bobby doesn’t mind me using his-“

“Sammy!” Dean bellowed into the house. “Just driving Cas home, kay?”

A faint “Okay’ followed that. Good.

 

—-***—-

 

The dry, cold gravel crunched under front tires. Ahead was Cas’ house, lit up bright and friendly-like in the evening.

 

Dean killed the engine.

 

He didn’t want to go home. 

 

“Dean, would you like to come in?” Cas asked. 

Dean looked over at his friend. “You can stop feeling sorry for me, Cas. I told you it doesn’t help. Sympathy ain’t got nothin’ on what I’ve got going on in my head, alright?”

Cas sucked his lower lip. “There is a difference between sympathy and empathy, Dean. I can empathize with what you are going through.”

“Can you?” Dean wanted to shout it, but it came out low and forlorn. 

“I can place myself in your shoes and only imagine. In that way, my heart hurts on your behalf.”

“Oh Jeez, you sound like heart-broken poet.”

Cas paused and repeated the offer. “Would you like to come in?”

Dean stared at Cas. It was so easy to be with him. Cas was the only one, Dean bets, that didn’t squirm or feel put-upon by Dean’s words. He’d just sat there and listened. Maybe that’s all Dean ever needs, is a friend that listens.

“No,” Dean answered. He leaned over Cas and yanked at the passenger door handle. “Go on.”

Cas jumped a little, knee crashing into the dash. He winced painfully and clutched at his leg just as the glove compartment juddered open.

“Sorry,” Cas said. He probably expected a reprimand for daring to knock about Dean’s baby.

But Dean wasn’t looking at Cas. He leaned over again and tugged at the plastic that peeked out of the compartment.

 

Cas followed his hands.

 

“Is that it?” he asked softly, watching Dean pull out a clear plastic bag.

 

Dean swallowed and nodded. Yeah, the remaining effects of one John Winchester. A man who ran from everything. Dean hated himself for thinking it, but it’s all he could feel right now. John had been drunk when that truck had slammed into him. The report said he’d veered into the other lane, no skid marks to indicate he’d even tried to brake. His death hadn’t been immediate, but it hadn’t been slow either.

 

“Dean?” Cas said, leaning over the bench seat. “You don’t have to.”

“I gotta, Cas,” Dean’s throat felt tight. “I gotta look one day. ’S not like there’s anything special here. Look.”

He pushed his hands through the various items in the bag. "Keys to the truck. A wad of paper? Wallet. Travel toothbrush. That’s it, Cas. That is all.”

The entire contents of John Winchester’s life on the road. Not even a scrap of clothing left, they said, which means whatever he’d been wearing, and whatever had been in his duffel, was ruined.

 

Cas’ hand pressed to Dean’s knee. Dean didn’t mind. At least someone seemed to care.

Dean pulled out his Dad’s wallet. It was scuffed up real bad on one side. Seemed kind of new, which meant John must have bought it in the last year or so. It’d been a while since Dean had gone rifling through it for spare change. It was one of the bi-fold zipper kinds. Simple, brown leather.

“Just like Dad,” Dean huffed out. “No mess, no fuss.”

Dean unzipped the thing, feeling how empty it was. God, if the cops had emptied the cash out … not that Dean expected much.

“See, Cas?” Dean muttered, tugging out random business cards, worn and outdated. Diners, other trucking companies and suppliers. Looks like John had been doing more food and beverage shipping. “Nothing major.”

It was just too damn crappy. He had a wallet and nothing else. 

Cas gave a weak smile. 

Then Dean’s heart stopped. He tugged at an inner pocket in the wallet. Shit. He’d been expecting some rats to crawl out of the wallet, some dirty names and numbers. Maybe a couple women, maybe extended stays in motels when he was supposed to be on the road. But not this.

“God _damnit_ ,” Dean’s voice broke.

Cas was immediately concerned. “Dean?”

“Goddamn stupid-“ he felt his breath catch and slammed his left fist into the steering wheel. “- _stupid old man._ ”

Dean dropped the wallet and pressed both palms to his eyes. _Fuck._

He felt Cas pick up the fallen wallet, heard it flap open. Then a warm arm went around his shoulder, a hand at his nape.

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Cas whispered.

Dean wanted to yell about how _sorry wouldn’t help_. _Sorry_ made it worse. He couldn’t look up, couldn’t see that looks in Cas’ eyes, that soulful, mournful look. Someone like Cas could break him.

Dean’s resolve melted when Cas leaned in close and just stayed there as the tears burned down Dean’s freckled cheeks, his sobs contained, forced down, stifled. He _hadn’t_ cried yet. Wasn’t going to. Didn’t want to.

“Stupid, stupid!” he choked out, finally feeling his walls crumble. He hadn’t had a reason to break. Not when he was Sammy’s rock, not when everything had to keep moving forward. Not when Bobby looked after them, like he always had, in a way Dean couldn’t and probably wouldn’t be able to ever pay him back for.

 

He’d expected the rage, the resentment, the loss. He accepted that his father was never going to eat dinner with them, or fall asleep on the couch again, or even argue with Dean again. 

 

He knew Sam would graduate school, go on to become the world’s greatest _whatever_ and would have no father in the crowd glowing with pride. Dean wouldn’t have another day under a car with his dad, or a beer with him, or even a goddamn handshake. Dean had accepted _that_ a long time ago.

 

What he hadn’t expected was to find something old and worn tucked into his father’s new wallet, meaning it had been moved around many times before, always ending up in a similar place, carefully folded so as not to crease in the wrong place. 

 

It was nothing more than an old photo of two young boys covered in mud with arms wrapped around each other as they smiled wide for the camera.

And it broke Dean’s heart.

 

 

 

On the back, in faded, scratchy pen, were two words.

 

_My boys._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be a bit of a time jump. Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short transitional chapter.

**Dean: 18 -Sam: 14**

 

“That’s the last one, right?” Dean asked as Sam dropped a box onto the upstairs landing.

“Yeah,” Sam muttered, stretching his arms above his head. “Cas is just picking up the random crap you dropped on the way up.”

“Hmf,” Dean snorted.

He headed down the stairs, boots clomping loudly.

At the front door he found Cas with an armful of socks, sweaters and a lone shoe that must have fallen out of the many boxes they’d carted upstairs.

“Thanks, man,” Dean said, clapping him on the shoulder as he brushed past.

 

While he checked over Bobby’s truck and his baby, he felt a strange heaviness pull at his sternum. It hadn’t gone away, this feeling. Now that it was official and the house was sold and he and Sammy would be living with Bobby, it felt even worse.

It’d been months since John’s passing. Time seemed faded and blurry and inconsistent to Dean. 

After much talk and lots of late nights, Dean, along with Bobby and Ellen, decided that the house wasn’t worth keeping. Bobby couldn’t bear two mortgages and Dean sure as hell couldn’t afford it, so the inevitable had to happen.

Sam had been good about it all. He understood, probably better than Dean, that things were different now. They were lucky they even had someone like Bobby to take them in.

So once that young couple with the stroller had expressed interest, it was nothing but paperwork and packing and moving.

Tons of crap got thrown out. Dean took ages to sift through John’s stuff and decide what had to go, what they could keep.

It was all in boxes now. It was the small mundane things that people overlooked when moving. Like right now Ellen was unpacking their spice cupboard, moving Dad’s old paprika and peppers and jams and sauces over to Bobby’s kitchen. They kept things like unused paper towels, but got rid of the ratty rug and toilet lid cover from the old bathroom. Bobby had enough crap already, the hoarder that he was, so Dean and Sam had been brutal in their toss-away mode. 

Cas joined in on the last day to help with final clean-up. He’d quietly swept each room, wiped down all surfaces, even windowsills, so the new owners had a nice, clean, fresh start.

He’d brought in a vase of lavender and other fragrant flowers that were beyond Dean’s grasp, and placed them on the kitchen counter. “A welcome home,” Cas’d called it.

Dean had been the last one out, locking the front door for the last time.

 

“This is so weird,” he grumbled, coming back into Bobby’s kitchen.

Ellen turned as she organized the baking cupboard. 

“Just …” Dean searched for words. “I dunno. It’s weird.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, closing the cupboard and tossing the old box towards the pile of junk at the back door. “I know it is.”

Dean chewed his inner cheek. 

Cas and Sam appeared at his side. “We having lunch?” Sam piped up, ravenous as always.

Ellen glanced at Dean before smiling. “Sure. How’s about some pancakes?”

“For lunch?” Sam’s eyes lit up; always the little things with him.

Dean caught Cas’ eye. “You staying for pancakes?” he asked.

“If I’m welcome,” Cas shrugged. 

Dean cuffed his shoulder. “Don’t be an idiot.”

 

—-***—-

 

“Can we _not_ talk about this right now?” Dean groused, watching the traffic light. His baby purred happily beneath him.

“Dean, you keep trying to avoid this. Why not now?” Lisa asked from the passenger seat.

It was late May, June on the horizon and Dean felt himself grinding his teeth for the umpteenth time this week.

“Well, for one, I’m driving,” Dean said harshly.

“But Dean,” Lisa said, voice almost too soft.

“Listen, Lise, for once would you just listen?” Dean barked. “I am _not_ going to college. We both know I missed every deadline imaginable. I’m lucky I fucking passed this year at all, okay? Stop pestering me about it!”

It was this old thing again. Lisa had gotten accepted at all three of her universities. She’d picked Western, typically aiming for sunny California where all her veterinary dreams lay, just waiting for her to dive headfirst into them. The full scholarship definitely helped her parents agree to her terms. As much as they wanted to keep her close, the allure of no not tuition was too much to ignore.

“I know you missed the dates, but there’s still the winter semester. You can sign up in September, right? I just don’t want you-“

“Wasting my ass away in pathetic small town Lawrence?” Dean bit out, hitting the gas. Lisa jolted back in her seat and he lessened the speed a little. No need to be a _complete_ jackass.

“No, I don’t want you thinking you can’t do this, can’t go to college, or whatever.” Lisa continued.

“Lise,” Dean said softly, looking over at her. “We’ve gone over this a bazillion times. I’m glad you got into your school of choice. You know that. But I’m not leaving Kansas just to go parading around in California like I don’t have a care in the world.”

Lisa frowned, “Is that what you think I’m doing? Really, Dean? You think I’m trying to drag you into the LA nightclub scene or something?”

Dean sighed loudly. “No, just, that’s not for me; the school thing.”

“No, Dean,” Lisa said forcefully. “You _are_ good enough, you are smart enough and you deserve to get away from all of this. This town, this life. I want you to be happy.”

Dean bit back his words. It wouldn’t do to snap at her, again, about what exactly it was she thought his life was here in Lawrence.

“I’m not going,” he said calmly, voice dark, brows furrowed. “Let it go.”

Lisa stared at him. Dean could feel her gaze flicking over his tense jaw.

“Well, maybe I just want you to come with me?” she said softly. He felt her small hand rest on his thigh, like always. Dean flicked a look at her as he turned into the movie theatre parking lot.

Her wide brown eyes bored into him, all sad and sweet.

“Fuck,” he breathed, angling the chevy into a parking spot. When he killed the engine, Dean didn’t move. He eyed the steering wheel, trying to put his thoughts into words. “Look, I’m not saying I don’t want to go with you-“

Lisa crept closer.

Dean looked at her then, his gaze hard. “-but I’m also saying that I’m not going with you. I’m not leaving Sam behind. I’m not running away because life gets too hard.”

Lisa’s eyes went wide. 

“You’re not your dad,” she said softly, fingers curling into his leg.

“This is _not_ about my dad!” Dean slammed his hands against the steering wheel. “You don’t get it, do you?” He turned his face towards her. Lisa pulled her hand back. “You have no right to even talk about him.”

“Dean, I’m just saying-“

“No,” Dean snapped. “This is over. Done. I’m not moving to the fucking sunny-ass west coast so I can waste time looking for work while you live it up on campus. I’m not your damn boy toy and I got more important shit to do. Not happening. So stop fucking asking.”

Dean could have kicked himself because of the look that passed over Lisa’s face. They’d been on an uphill battle with this crap. It just wasn’t the same anymore. They weren’t kids. They couldn’t just flip off the world and run away to be free from all responsibility. Dean wasn’t like Lisa. She was better, smarter, stronger. She had goals and dreams and a steadfast trajectory rocketing her towards everything she and her parents had ever wanted. She would fly through college, ace all her exams, become some leader in veterinary science and might even close down SeaWorld. Whatever she had, whatever it was, it didn’t include or require Dean. He’d always known that. It took this long to say it out loud, but damn it, he’d always known.

And looking into her dark brown eyes he finally saw it mirrored in her expression. She’d tried too hard, for too long. He couldn’t be fixed and he didn’t want to be.

“I just want you to be happy,” she said, voice breaking. She wiped at her eyes.

Dean didn’t have anything to say to that.

“Why don’t you want to be?” she said. “Why can’t you do something for yourself, Dean?”

Dean stared at her, feeling like the biggest tool ever. This had been a long time coming.

“Because your dreams won’t make me happy,” he said, voice dry.

Lisa blinked, wetness shining over her wide eyes.

“You mean, _I_ can’t make you happy,” she said.

Dean looked out, away through the windshield. What he wanted to say was that _he_ couldn’t live up to her expectations. He couldn’t make _her_ happy. They were only eighteen for fuck’s sake. This wasn’t supposed to be an intense now-and-forever kind of deal. Why did she have to push it?

And he understood. He finally understood what she wanted from him. It wasn’t just a boyfriend, a companion, a familiar face. She was expecting/hoping for a husband, a father and life partner, when he wasn’t even past thinking over next week’s pay check.

Lisa saw some kind of future in him, and Dean, Dean wasn’t evenly remotely delusional about stuff like that.

He turned to her again. “Lise, I’m sorry,” he said. And he meant it.

“You’re serious,” she breathed, tears cresting over her lashes, spilling down her cheeks. “You really mean it, don’t you?”

Dean nodded.

She didn’t sob or shudder or any of that other overdramatic stuff. Instead, she wiped at her face with her long sweater sleeves and shifted in her seat. 

“I don’t think we need to watch a movie,” she murmured heavily. “Please take me home.”

Dean watched her a moment longer.

Then he turned the key in the ignition and shifted into reverse.

 

The drive back was silent and heavy.

 

When they pulled up to her parent’s house, Lisa just looked at him once more and said. “Good-bye, Dean.” and got out of the car, slamming the door behind her.

 

—-***—-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect more change next week! Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Dean: 18 -Sam: 14**

 

On the last day of his high school career, Dean would never have figured he’d actually be spending it _at school._ Maybe slacking off in bed, or down at the Roadhouse knockin’ pool, but seriously, _at school_ , walking around? Crazy.

“The things I do for you, Cas,” he grumbled to himself.

Most kids had actually bailed, seeing as mandatory last day meant pretty much the opposite.

Parents were about, helping their kids pick up leftover books, emptying lockers and taking part in the last day ‘bazaar’ the drama club had put together in the old refrain of school spirit or some shit.

 

Dean walked along the hallway, not really caring. He wasn’t gonna miss this place. He felt over-large, outgrown in the old building. Thank God it was over. He’d scraped by, living up to barely rational reasoning behind even having a high school education. It always felt like a waste of time.

 

At the end of the east hallway he found a bunch of kids milling about.

 

The art room was buzzing. Part of the final festivities was for the art students to have a chance at showing off their work in a last ditch gamble on auctioning off work for charity.

It was sad and cute all at once. Who the hell wanted poop art done by degenerates? Dean had politely declined putting any of his shit projects up for auction. He was a grown-ass man, not a masochistic clown.

 

When he entered the room, he found a few parents and teachers hovering about amongst the few kids left.

One mother was helping her daughter bag up her canvases.

Another kid was pilfering conte crayons. Eh.

“Mrs Novak,” Dean murmured, recognizing the woman talking nearby.

Two familiar, similar, dark-haired heads swivelled his way.

Cas’ mom smiled. “Dean,” she said. “How nice to see you again.”

He shrugged, lip curling. “Ah, you know.”

“I’m surprised you showed up,” Cas said, voice gravelly and sage. He blinked, face impassive as always. If Dean didn’t know the guy so well, he’d think he didn’t give a shit. Dean knew better.

“Well, you deserve some of the spotlight, Cas,” Dean said. He turned to Cas’ mom. “You seen his work, huh? Major Go-ginn you got here.”

“Gaugin,” Cas corrected making the word sound completely different to what Dean said. Whatever. 

Selene turned to look over the few canvases and papers tacked to the wall. “Yes. Such lovely work, Castiel.”

Cas actually _rolled his eyes_. “You’re my mother. Of course you think my work is lovely.”

“I especially love this one,” his mother said clearly ignoring his words. She was indicating the oversized portrait, _god_ , of Dean. 

“Oh man, _Cas!_ ” Dean groaned. “ _Really? Really?_ ”

He could feel his face flush with annoyance.

“What?” Cas said, blinking like an owl. “I’m proud of it.”

Ugh, how could Dean shoot that down? 

Selene laughed and covered her mouth. “It is expertly done. No doubt someone will want to buy it.” She smiled at Dean and he swore he could see an amused twinkle in her. A Gabe kind of twinkle. “Look how the lighting over here brings out-“

“Okay, Mother,” Cas said, patting her shoulders, “No need to make Dean more uncomfortable. Apparently, that is my job.”

He tugged his mother over. Dean made a point of moving along as well. He got to get a look at the other pieces, all the while hoping someone would knock over that damn painting of his fuckin’ mug. Or accidentally set it on fire.

He’d seen most of these, but a few others were new. Cas had been doing art for more years than Dean after all. There were a lot of portraits. Strangers. Some were in greys and some were just sketches. Dean didn’t recognize any of them. “You do these from photos?” he asked, pointing at one of a white sketch on black card. It was the silhouette of a middle-aged man, brow furrowed and highlighted expertly.

Cas nodded. “Yes. I don’t normally have people model for me.” Dean saw a slight smile curve across Cas’ lips.

The joke may be there but Dean could see beneath it. Cas didn’t have many friends, so not really many people _could_ sit for him.

Dean nodded. “Cool.”

While Cas explained one of his other pieces to his mother, Dean looked over the last few artworks on the wall. He leaned in close. Two small canvases, no bigger than Dean’s hands, were placed side-by-side. One was of a small brown bird with a bright orange chest, feathers bristled. It looked like a fluffy busybody kind of bird. The one next to it was of a familiar blue bird with black banding along its tail and wings and a tuft of feathers poking out the back of its head. Dean smirked.

“Hey, this a bluejay?” Dean said, pointing at the painting.

Cas looked up. He nodded.

“And this fruity lil’ guy?” Dean jabbed a thumb at the other bird.

Cas moved over. “That is a robin.”

“Really?” Dean said, cocking his head. “Don’t they have, like, red chests? Red-chested robin?”

“I think you mean the overused term ‘red-breasted’ robin, Dean.”

Dean smirked.

Cas shook his head. “Not all robins have red feathers.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean snorted.

“They’re lovely,” Selene said, stepping between the two boys.

Dean just started laughing. He couldn’t help himself.

Cas just had this _look_ on his face. It was priceless.

“Mom,” Cas said gravely.

“What?” she responded, looking between the two of them.

Dean’s belly ached as his laugh just got stronger.

“Dean…” Cas sighed. 

“No, no,” Dean heaved, leaning in close. He threw an arm over Cas’ shoulder, tugging his friend into his side. He cocked a grin at Cas’ mom. “You done good, Cas. Not just a pretty face, huh?”

He could feel Cas sighing against his side. Dean ruffled his friend’s hair, making a right mess of the dark locks.

Selene Novak just looked at the two tall, almost fully-grown boys, a small smile bright against her lips.

 

               

 

—-***—-

 

 2 years later 

 

—-***—-

 

**Dean: 20 -Sam: 16**

_year - 1999_

 

 

“Cas!” Dean groused, throwing the apartment door open. “Come on, man. Tell me you’re not still sleeping.”

He shoved the door with his shoulder, the box of discount groceries lodged between his elbows. Jesus, who knew rice was so fucking heavy? In bulk it was worse.

He ambled into the tiny kitchen that ran along the long wall, dumping the cardboard box on the counter. Dean stretched his arms out, flexing, feeling his elbows pop. “Damn,” he grumbled.

“Cas?” he called out.

The apartment was quiet but that hardly meant anything when regarding Castiel Novak. The man was as quiet as a mouse when he wanted to be. One time Dean was sacked out on the sofa for two days watching movie marathons, not at all cognizant of the fact his friend had been in his room the whole time. Finding a man eating peanut butter out of the jar at midnight on a Sunday wasn’t the best way to find these things out. But Cas always delivered on the weird.

Dean heard a door creak and the soft padding of bare feet led to the appearance of one clearly tired and bedraggled Castiel.

“Dude,” Dean said, sweeping his arm wide, displaying the fruit of his efforts. “Noahs was having a freakin’ sale. Got you some of that hippy-dippy shit you like. Bottom dollar too.”

Dean wiggled his brows at his roommate.

Cas blinked, brows dark and befuddled.

“Thank you, Dean,” he rumbled. The man came forward and started digging through the produce, inspecting the goods. “Sorry if you needed help. My studying got away from me last night and my morning exam was none too pleasant.”

Dean shrugged. “I figured.”

Cas had midterms, Dean knew. It was why he kinda was left to his own devices. They’d been roommates going on just over six months now, something that still kind of surprised Dean.

When Cas had decided to forego University all those years ago to focus on ‘finding his interests’ in Lawrence, Dean had taken his break from school to focus on work.

For almost a year he’d slogged away, pulling three pay checks so he and Sammy could have cash on hand, in case. He figured Bobby did enough for them anyhow, that Dean was responsible for the kid’s clothes and birthdays and gear at least.

When Dean had mentioned to Bobby about savings, how to get them, that is, it had all kind of unraveled a bit. Dean wanted to save. Wanted to get money for Sam’s schooling. Hell knows the kid was smart enough to want to actually _get_ a tertiary kind of education. Dean wasn’t dumb, he knew this. But when he’d started looking up the costs of shit like that, his stomach had pretty much sunk to the bottom of the Pacific. Hell only knows what fully-functional families did with colleges, cos their two and a half poor-ass family definitely wasn’t fit for bills like that.

It would take Dean working three jobs on the regular just to get even close to saving enough for Sam’s first _year_ at college. Fuck, if he’d only started this shit sooner, right?

Except Bobby had kind of upset the apple cart when he reminded Dean of the money left over from the sale of the house.

Sure, Dean had agreed at the time of the sale that it should be put away for Sam. All of it. Save it, save it all. 

It was a nice sum, but it wasn’t like, Richard Branson kinda cash. Sam would need it later, for emergencies.

But Bobby had clearly disregarded Dean’s request and had split the sum in two, shoving a bunch of savings aside for Dean too.

“Why? What the hell for, Bobby?” Dean had yelled months and months ago. “I said it was for Sammy!”

“It was for both of you, ye idjit,” Bobby had groused right back. “Like I’mma leave one boy outta what’s owing to him?”

“But I don’t _need_ it,” Dean had retaliated.

“Like hell you don’t,” Bobby had snapped. Then he’d gone on a tirade Dean had heard a million times. Dean could keep working himself to death, sure. He didn’t have to leave Lawrence, sure. But he could at least try for something else too. Saying it was ‘for himself’ never seemed to work. So Bobby had changed his angle. It was for Sam. Dean would do better getting a better job. Earning more meant more stability. When Sam joined KU, Dean wouldn’t have to worry so much. 

For months Bobby had been pressing, pushing for Dean to at least give something else a shot.

Even Merle, the old coot, had made a point of hinting at the downtown jobs Dean had were interfering with his work at the shop.

Eventually Dean had relented a _little_ and dropped his job at the auto shop to focus on the two jobs (that paid better) in downtown. This meant more driving, more commuting.

For a good few months he’d made a life of working more industrial auto body work and at nights, taking on his auto mechanic certification. This had been at the press of not just Bobby, but Sam too.

 

Cas had just decided last minute, at the end of the summer finishing their last year in High School, that the local community college downtown had a ‘nice’ art program and that he would like to try it out.

Dean wondered what Cas’ parents had to say about that, but he never heard a thing.

So when Cas moved into a tiny sublet downtown for the first few months, Dean found himself crashing over there sometimes.

The traveling back and forth had started to wear on Dean, and Cas was easy-going about loaning out his beaten up futon sofa.

When Sam finally was the one to suggest it, it almost-kind-of-maybe-no-no-never made sense.

When Cas’ sublet had expired, he’d been on the look-out for a new apartment. Sam poked his nose in all over the place, hinting at Dean possibly getting a place too.

Dean hadn’t liked that idea at all.

“But you stay over at Cas’ like two nights a week,” Sam had said idly, “Not even paying rent. And you eat all his food. Poor guy must be starving.”

“Plus,” Sam had added at another juncture, “It’d save you time not having to come back here. You know we don’t need to see your fat face every day, Dean.”

Dean had railed against this until almost everyone he knew called him petulant and _childish_. 

It was only when Cas had let him stay over again, Dean basically collapsing from exhaustion, that the dark-haired Novak suggested Dean was welcome to move with him to a new apartment. They could split the bills and Dean wouldn’t have to waste that money on gas, and he’d probably get more rest. _Plus_ Cas wouldn’t have to be alone all the time, which worried his mother too much, apparently.

 

And Dean had blinked and finally thought, “What the hell.”

He was doing it for Sam.

Right?

 

And this was how the older Winchester and the younger Novak ended up finding a tiny-ass apartment on the edge of downtown, close enough to Dean’s work and a walk away for Castiel’s classes.

Sure, their heating sucked and the parquet flooring was rippling near the walls, but it was better than dying from sleep deprivation on the highway every night.

Being away from Sam kind of made Dean paranoid. So he’d buckled down and gotten both of them cell phones. Freakin’ phones! That way they could text and Dean could check in all the time, or just send fart jokes to Sam at three AM. They weren’t fancy phones, but they got the job done.

 

 

“You bought jasmine rice,” Cas said, tugging out a vacuum-sealed pack. He blinked at Dean in surprise. “Thank you, Dean.”

“No problem, baby bird,” Dean chuckled.

“Ugh, please don’t call me that. You know it reminds me of my mother,” Cas shot back.

“Does it?” Dean blinked widely, feigning innocence.

Cas just sighed and rubbed at his five o’clock shadow. Definitely had been sleeping if he hadn’t shaved yet. Dean was getting used to his roommate’s routines.

Cas was a bit unorthodox in the way he shuffled about his life, but Dean wasn’t a prize most of the time either, so they had made it work.

They split most things down the middle. They had a shared food jar on top of the fridge which either was allowed to dip into when they went shopping. Then there was the laundry jar, where all their extra quarters went. They hoarded quarters like freaks. In a place like their building and on their budget, quarters were a godsend when you needed clean clothes.

Sometimes Dean cooked. Cas hardly ever cooked. Not after he’d melted a spatula in the frying pan one night because he’d been distracted by a show on marmosets that flickered on their ancient TV.

And every two weeks Dean would drive them back to the suburbs to visit their respective families.

 

“You gonna be okay for tonight?” Dean asked as Cas unloaded the groceries into the fridge and cabinets.

Cas looked up from where he was bent inside the fridge. “Tonight?”

Dean snorted. “Uh, hello? Halloween?”

Cas blinked then went back to shoving eggs into the fridge.

“Oh, yes. I suppose.”

 

One odd side effect to having Cas as a roommate was his classmates.

Sure, Cas had started off studying only art, but his studies had kind of … branched out? Not content with just visual arts, he’d started in on some random psychology classes which had led him to doing one class on feminist theory, which led him onto another class with a focus on linguistics and, _hell,_ Dean had no idea what kind of diploma they guy was eventually gonna get, but he figured it would appear covered in glitter and moon-rocks and would be made of hammered bronze or something. Crazy guy.

Anyway, because of all this, Cas had managed to pick up a motley crew of, dare Dean say it, _friends._ First there’d been Kevin, the clearly schizo genius double-majoring in chemistry and Mathematics. Why he was at a community college was beyond Dean. The word ‘break-down’ was thrown about sometimes, but Dean never asked. The kid was pretty quiet around Dean anyway.

Then there was Charlie, the light of Dean’s otherwise dull, nerdy life.

How Cas bagged her as a friend, Dean would never know, ‘cos she was _clearly_ meant to be Dean’s buddy. Charlie was awesome. She had met Cas at some LGBTQA-whatever event thrown at the college. Plus, she’d been in his feminist theory course. So, yeah. 

Cas knew a lot of chicks. He picked them up like fly-paper. Probably ‘cos of those big baby blues and that super-endearing way he would listen to anyone about anything. So Dean got to dazzle the ladies every so often. Moreso than when he’d been just commuting and working and bustin’ ass all the time. Now? Now he got laid.

Now Dean got to dine in the pleasant company of all the merry students Cas introduced him to.

It was awesome. Just ‘cos Dean wasn’t at the college, didn’t mean he couldn’t partake in its party favours.

 

There was a Halloween party tonight, for example. Set up by Charlie and her drama club, or something. Some open-minded, free-spirited partying would do them good, she’d said.

 

“You got an outfit ready?” Dean asked, leaning against their tiny kitchen table with the wobbly leg. 

Cas stood and started bagging up the extraneous packaging he liked to recycle. “Anna said she would bring me something.” he seemed unbothered.

“So, what? No sexy firefighter uniform this year?” Dean smirked widely.

Cas eyed him and made a face.

Dean laughed loudly. “Hey, don’t blame me! It’s still funny!”

“To you, maybe,” Cas grumbled, stuffing the plastics into the recycling bin under the sink. “I, however, am still mortified.”

“Aw, c’mon Cas! Just ‘cos last year you woke up next to a guy in a firefighter costume and then proceeded to freak out, thinking he was an _actual_ firefighter and that the building was burning to the ground doesn’t mean it isn’t hilarious. Coulda happened to anyone.” Dean’s smirk would not abate. God, that had been funny when Gabe had told him. 

“Ugh,” Cas groused. “and he wouldn’t stop calling.”

“That’s what you get, you smooth criminal,” Dean laughed loud, smacking Cas’ butt as he exited the kitchen.

 

—-***—-

 

The two hadn’t initially required rules on ‘visitors’ when they’d first moved in together. To be fair, both had tried just adjusting to living in a different space before any talk of _polite rules in strangers’ company_ came into play.

 

Sure, there was that one time Cas had been woken by Dean and some chick knocking over Dante’s terrarium, making Dean not only ridiculously remorseful but also making Cas so mad he hadn’t spoken to him for a week. The terrarium now sat exclusively in Cas’ room.

Then there’d been that time Dean and Trisha had used up all the hot water when Cas had needed to shower and get to a late class that he was presenting to.

And that time Cas had done a u-turn in their kitchen because Dean had his head between some girl’s legs while she was propped up on their kitchen table.

“We eat there!” had been thrown about in anger (Cas) and humour (Dean).

So yeah, maybe Dean had taken his newfound liberty a little too _liberally._

It was only when Dean had stumbled into the kitchen to find a strange dude in boxers drinking _his_ coffee that _he’d_ paid for, that boundaries were drawn up.

It had nothing to do with the fact that the guy had been totally ripped and was some kind of real estate hotshot, or something. Nor did it have anything to do with the weird little kiss the guy had landed on Cas when he’d finally dressed and left, like, TWO hours later. Inconsiderate much? It also had nothing to do with the fact that Dean kept _forgetting,_ on occasion, that Cas liked men. 

 

Or ‘preferred’ men, as Cas would always put it. Hmf.

 

So they now had rules.

 

No sex in the communal living areas. This included sofa, tables, horizontal surfaces of any kind, including the damn floor. Walls were added in when Cas found two handprints on the hallway wall one morning. In brownie batter, of all things.

Heads-up on bedmates, or potential bedmates, so as to not inconvenience the other roommate should they be home. This one was due to Cas having some guy lounging in Dean’s spot on the sofa when Dean had just wanted to watch some Deep Space Nine all night. _Rude._

No stealing each other’s supplies unless under severe duress (aka: possible impregnation might occur, _dude_ I need a condom).

 

 

Those went along with the basic rules. 

“Dean, stop splashing water all over the bathroom floor.” 

“Dean, you can’t have mac ’n’ cheese with extra cheese packets because then we have too many boxes of dry noodles and no cheese sauce.” 

“Cas! Pants, dude! _Jesus_.”

“Dean, I don’t care what AC/DC thinks of my pop culture references, but blaring rock ballads at 2 AM is not okay, please turn it down.”

 

Other than that, living with Cas was a breeze. 

 

—-***—-

 

“So you’re actually going out?” Sam said through the phone as Dean puttered about in the kitchen.

“Yeah, yeah, shut it,” Dean responded. “It’s Charlie’s gig. You know how it is.”

“Sure, Dean,” Sam said, “Like you’ve ever done Halloween ever.”

“Eh, gotta give it a go at least once.”

It was late evening already and they’d be heading out soon.

“What are you dressed as?”

Dean glanced down at his t-shirt and jeans. “Superman.”

“Seriously? The whole underwear over the pants thing?”

Dean snorted, “No, you dork.”

“Not Batman?”

“Didn’t have it at the store,” Dean shrugged to no one.

“Cas going with you?” Sam asked.

“Yup,” Dean said, “Charlie’s just fixing shit, or something. I dunno. She pretty much disappeared into his room the minute she arrived with Anna.”

He turned and leaned against the counter.

“Oh, two redheads, huh? Big trouble.”

“Tell me about it. I swear, those two are evil shits when they wanna be.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam said and Dean could hear the smirk stretching across his brother’s face. Dean _may_ or may not have mentioned how bangin’ hot Cas’ friend Anna had appeared when he first met her.

Sam chuckled. “Well, don’t get too hammered. Keep your pants on this time,” he said nonchalantly.

Dean rolled his eyes, “Gross, cooties. Yes, _Mom_.”

“Have fun,” Sam laughed. “Show me photos when you visit, okay?”

“Like hell I will,” Dean laughed. “Talk to ya later, Sammy.”

“Night, Dean.”

 

Dean stared at his phone before flipping it shut and slipping it into his back pocket. Nifty little thing.

He heard voices and a bit of banging about, so he exited the kitchen to investigate.

Charlie and Anna came stumbling out of Cas’ room, falling over with giggles. Nothing was more terrifying than giggling women.

“C’mon, Cas!” Charlie laughed, “Come out.”

“You look adorable, Castiel, I swear,” Anna said, winking at Dean from where she stood. 

“Adorable is not what I was hoping for, Anael,” Cas grumbled as he exited his room.

Dean’s mouth slid wide into a grin when he spotted his friend.

“Going for Victoria’s Secret look, huh?” he said, taking Cas in as the other man approached, face in a scowl.

“This is idiotic,” Cas grumbled some more, tugging at the sheet wrapped around his shoulders and tied at his waist.

“You look good in a dress, Cas,” Dean said, aiming for calm, but failing. 

Cas scowled at Dean.

“I am not wearing this,” Cas said, turning to the grinning girls behind him. He began tugging at the sheet.

“No!” Charlie cried. “It looks great!”

Dean just laughed deeply as Cas tore the fabric off, leaving him in nothing more than his tight, navy boxer briefs.

“Whoa, Cas!” Dean cried, covering his face. “My eyes.”

“Dean, you’re not helping,” Anna said.

Dean lowered his hand, trying to not eye up his friend’s butt. “What?”

Anna sighed. “Okay, Castiel, if this makes you uncomfortable, maybe we can come to a compromise.” Her Grecian Goddess outfit was clean and classy and suited her to a tee.

Maybe Cas was supposed to match?

“We’re gonna be late,” Charlie added.

Cas turned his wide eyes to Dean. _Help_ , they cried.

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Okay, let’s figure this out,” he groused, coming to grab Cas’ elbow. As they passed the pile of newly folded laundry, Dean reached in to get what he wanted.

He pushed Cas back into his room.

“All right, you streaker, try this on. He threw the shirt at Cas while he dug around Cas’ floor for some semi-clean jeans. “And these.”

Cas blinked. He slipped the white long-sleeved tee over his head, dark hair popping free through the neckline. Cas never wore white, so it looked kinda odd on him.

After he’d gotten the jeans on, Dean nodded. “Okay, what else has Charlie got in her bag of tricks? Come on, I saw her drag in way more than a damn bed sheet when she arrived.”

Cas pointed to a large duffel Charlie had brought with.

Dean lifted it up and threw it on the mattress Cas used as a bed before digging inside. Figures the girls would bring an array of crap for Halloween costuming purposes.

He pulled out a set of devil horns. “Nah, not you,” he murmured, tossing them aside.

“What are you supposed to be?” Cas asked, standing on the mattress unsteadily.

Dean looked down at the blue t-shirt with the giant S painted across it like a shield. “Uh, Superman?”

He crooked a brow at Cas, who just blinked.

“Oh.”

“Ah-ha!” Dean crowed, tugging out what looked like a ball of swan. He unfolded the feathery ball, revealing a pair of wings. “Perfect, right, Cas?”

“I can be a goose?” Cas tilted his head.

“No, you turdbucket, an angel!” Dean cried, throwing the wings at his friend.

He watched Cas slip the wide elasticated bands over each shoulder. 

When Dean dragged them both back out to the living room, Charlie and Anna clapped happily.

“Perfect!” Charlie yipped.

Anna nodded. “Indeed. You make a very convincing seraph, Cas.”

“Hmf,” Cas wiggled his shoulders a bit. 

“Hey, don’t muss it up,” Dean barked, tugging the wings straight. He fluffed them up a little too.

 

“Right, let’s get on it!” Charlie cried, leaping off the busted-ass sofa.

 

—-***—-

 

So, the party was pretty damn jam-packed. Dean had to hand it to Charlie, she knew a helluva a lot of people.

The party room was the one used by the drama club for practice sessions, just a few blocks from Dean’s apartment complex. In the light of day, he knew the room was kinda gross, with scuffed linoleum and cracked mirrors lining the wall.

But tonight it looked sweet. Tons of black flimsy material was hanging from all corners and a drink and snacks table was set up with all manner of spooky stuff. He popped a gummy tarantula into his mouth, his drink swishing in a plastic cup.

He kinda wished there was booze around, but so far no luck. Seems enough people were under twenty-one and therefore inhibited the legal consumption of alcohol. Boo.

 

Dean smiled when he spotted Cas in the corner with the face-painting crew charlie had corralled together for the party. A handful of the art kids had agreed to paint up people’s mugs in some pretty awesome shit. He saw more than a few skull-like people wandering about.

Cas looked exasperated as two girls flitted around him. The giggled at something he said and Dean could only _imagine_ some droll comment about the acts of face-painting being unnecessary.

Cas wasn’t much for partying, Dean had figured out.

He wasn’t very socially apt and had a tough time getting people to understand his dry sense of humour.

Thank God for Charlie, huh?

Dean sipped his drink and checked out the crowd. The music pumped steadily and a few witches and princesses danced about. None of the people were familiar.

“Hey,” a voice said, startling Dean.

A tall guy dressed as a cowboy leaned past Dean to grab at the gummy worms.

Dean scooched aside to give him room.

“No need to move,” the guy chuckled. He stood back up and smiled wide. Then he winked. “Haven’t seen you at one of these things,” the guy said. 

“Uh, yeah, no, first time,” Dean said with a nod and small smile.

“Name’s Todd,” the guy extended his hand. Dean shook it.

“Dean,” he added.

“Oh, you wouldn’t happen to be _the_ Dean, would you?” the guy’s smile was unending.

“Say what now?” Dean crooked a brow.

“Castiel talks about a _Dean_ a lot. You know him, right? The cutie with the baby blues, tight butt and legs for miles?” The guy, Todd, pointed a gummy worm in Cas’ direction.

Dean felt annoyance bubble in his chest. “Yeah, Cas is my roommate. How do you know him?”

Todd the cowboy laughed. “Oh, you know…” then he just grinned.

Dean frowned, “Uh, no I don’t.”

Todd the cowboy laughed some more. What the hell was so funny? “Oh my God, you’re straight, aren’t you? Hah!”

“W-what? Yeah. So?”

“Sorry, man,” the guy laughed, patting Dean’s shoulder. “Maybe showing up at the gay pride style party wasn’t the best idea. Especially not as the Man of Steel., if you know what I mean.”

“Huh?” Dean blinked.

“With a face like that?” Todd cocked his head to the side, eyes roaming over Dean in a way he totally was _not_ okay with, he added, “Wouldn’t be surprised if you get hit on from now until midnight. Be careful out there, Dean.”

Dean might have said something smart, something snappish, but he didn’t manage it. The cowboy dude just waved and left him be, standing at the snacks table.

“Goddamnit, Charlie,” he hissed under his breath. Was that guy serious? Dean looked about, this time not just ogling the racks on display. Now that he actually paid attention, he noticeda bunch more things that would indicate that yes, perhaps this wasn’t just any old halloween shindig. Like the two chicks slow-dancing near the speakers, or the guys making eyes from across the snicker doodles like freakin’ teen movie saps. Jesus, he was at a gay/lesbo-whatever party and hadn’t even realized!

The hell was the point of this, then? When a very tall, very muscular woman in a blonde wig and ‘Miss Universe’ gown passed by, Dean had to blink twice. Oh God.

A flash of red hair had Dean moving.

He squeezed through the crowd, a little bit of paranoia seeping into his veins.

“Charlie!” he hissed, tugging at the Lara Croft-clad girl’s arm. 

“Dean, there you are!” she smiled up at him.

“Uh, is that blood?” Dean blinked for a moment, distracted.

Charlie smiled wide, distending the bloody-looking gouge tearing across her cheek. “Yeah! Undead Croft! Alanna did an awesome job, huh?” Her hand found Dean’s and he was unceremoniously dragged closer to the face-painting table.

“Wait, Charlie!” Dean snapped. He tugged her close. “Is this a gay party?”

Charlie blinked up at him. “Gay party? Is that a thing?” She smiled like he was some kid asking about how the moon was made of cheese.

“You know what I mean!”

Her smile faltered. “Uh, well, I guess, if that’s the term you wanna use. Most of my friends do tend to lean towards the non-hetero spectrum. Though not everyone’s _gay_ , Dean.”

“You’re gay,” Dean countered.

“Yeah, obviously.”

“And like, everyone else is?”

Dean blinked at her.

“Dean,” Charlie said slowly. “It’s okay. It’s not contagious.”

“I know that!” he hissed, feeling like a fool. “I can’t pick up chicks at a gay party, man.”

Charlie snorted and tugged Dean away again. “Listen champ, pretty sure your fine ass could pick up anyone in this room, have no fear.”

Dean wanted to retaliate that it kind of freaked him out the way some of the guys were eyeing him. Was this what chicks felt like all the time? Cos he could easily say that when a woman looked at him like she wanted to lick him bow-to-stern, it never made him want to grab his shit and run.

“Cas, you look adorable!” Charlie cried suddenly.

“That word again,” came Cas’ gruff, annoyed tone.

Dean blinked. Cas?

The other man sighed and looked up, finally noticing the Winchester. “This party is overwhelming.” he said nonchalantly.

Dean just _stared._  

“I feel claustrophobic in here. Please feel free to let me know when, if, you want to leave, Dean.”

The Novak tugged away from Charlie’s hand patting at his cheek. “Stop that.”

“Dude,” Dean breathed, eyes wide.

Cas finally looked at him again. “Oh, this. Yes, Anna wanted me to get my face painted. Except I think this involved less _painting_ and more general cosmetic work. Alanna is a make-up artist after all. Do I look like an idiot?”

Dean swallowed. “Uh, no. You look, uh. Fine.”

Dean didn’t say that the brown and black shadow that someone had expertly brushed around his eyes only made the blue orbs _pop like crazy_. And the weird shiny stuff wiped across his cheeks really brought out the cheekbones beneath. And that his eyelashes were crazy dark too.

“Dean, you’re staring.”

Dean blinked. “Uh, sorry. No, no, you look cute. You know, whatever.”

Cas definitely didn’t have an androgynous kind of face, but still, he was kinda blowin’ people away anyhow.

Dean noticed how much attention his roommate did seem to garner at the party. If one in every ten guys made a move on pinching Dean’s ass, it was nothing compared to the way the guys _and_ girls just _cooed_ over Cas. Naturally, the Novak didn’t realize it was all outrageous flirting. He just calmly, rationally responded to overt innuendo, rebutted almost every ‘when you fell from heaven did it hurt’ kind of joke thrown his way, and managed to talk in-depth about the million levels of Catholicism with someone dressed up as Elvira.

Dean wasn’t sure Elvira was female, either.

 

But true to form, Cas was his reliable ‘get out of jail free’ card and when Dean decided to ditch, his roommate was perfectly willing to leave with him, angel wings and all.

 

When they made it home, Dean all but crumpled into the sofa. “Well, that was a phenomenal waste of effort,” he groaned.

Cas went to the kitchen. “You barely put in effort, Dean.”

“Shaddup,” Dean responded dismally.

 

When Cas reappeared with two beers, Dean could have kissed him. “Dude, was that party supposed to be fun?”

Cas shrugged and sat beside him in his usual spot. “I suppose.” He turned to look at Dean. “Not to your taste?”

“Eh,” Dean swigged back his beer, “Not so much the venue, more the people.” He blanched, quickly looking at Cas. “I mean, not that the gayness thing was weird. I just mean, uh, it’s not what, um, I guess I’m used to?”

Cas eyed him silently. “Hm,” he murmured.

“I didn’t mean-“ Dean started but was cut off.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas sighed. “I find the queer community a bit overwhelming myself at times.”

They sat in silence for a bit.

It was dark outside and they had only the kitchen light on. It was kinda nice. They were lucky Halloween fell on a Sunday. Cas’ classes would let up for a bit.

“You remember that time you tried weed?” Dean asked suddenly.

Cas looked at him. “Unfortunately, yes. Why?”

Dean smiled and tilted his head to look at his friend.

“Bet Gabe thought it’d be a blast getting you high. Bet he thought you’d be all super laid-back and philosophical.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “As we both know, my brother knows very little about a whole lot of nothing.”

“Still funny though.”

“Hmf,” Cas drank his beer and pulled his feet up onto the sofa. “Your definition of funny is very different to my own.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Dean blinked. He stared at Cas in the dimness.

That time when Dean had come home to find a very terrified and paranoid Cas buried under a blanket on the sofa had been one helluva night. Typical that Cas wouldn’t respond to his first joint like other normal guys. No, he ended up being the freaky paranoid kind of smoker that Dean had to coax out of his blanket and sit with all night, convincing him that no one was in their apartment, and that no, he wasn’t going to fall out the window, no matter how full the room seemed to be. Weird, really.

Dean had given Gabe an ass-kicking for that one. _No drugs for Cas_.

 

“Why did you ask?” Cas said, making Dean focus back on the _now._

“Uh, dunno,” Dean shrugged. “Just thinking, I guess.”

Cas stared back. 

“What?” Dean cried. “Can’t a guy remember shit?”

“A few of Anna’s friends asked about you tonight,” Cas blurted. “I wasn’t sure I should tell you.”

Dean made a face, “Dudes?”

Cas nodded. “A few, yes. though one female made her interest known.”

Dean’s brows rose.

“She’s bisexual,” Cas explained.

“Oh.” Dean said.

 

It was quiet again.

 

All this talk of guys hitting on guys was making Dean’s stomach roil.

 

“I’m gonna hit the hay,” he grumbled twenty minutes later. “’S not like we’re busy doing anything.”

Cas stood too, stretching his arms up, the flimsy angel wings still somehow hanging from his shoulders. 

 

“All right. Good night, Dean.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Night, Cas,” Dean yawned as he headed back to his own bedroom to crash.

 

—-***—-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, things start to heat up. ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Dean: 20 -  Sam: 16**

_year - 1999/2000_

 

“Are those even legal, Dean?” Sam asked with a cynical expression.

“Details, Sammy,” Dean huffed as he dropped the box of fireworks down on the frosty grass. “Details.”

It was a perfect night for it. The sky was clear, not a cloud in sight.

Dean grabbed at Sam’s wrist, yanking the coat sleeve back.

“Ok, so we have thirty minutes for the others to show up. Wanna help me set up?” Dean smiled wide, grateful for the wool hat covering his ears against the winter chill.

Sam shrugged but smiled. The two brothers made quick work of laying and pinning out various types of fireworks. The ground was solid and needed to be worked a little before they could jam some of the bigger rocket sticks into the dirt.

“I’ll get to fire some, right?” Sam asked.

“‘Course,” Dean said, tugging his gloves back on. “Damn, we shoulda brought chairs.”

“I packed blankets,” Sam shrugged. “I’ll go get ‘em.”

“You’re pretty smart for a dork with a face like that,” Dean said with a grin. He threw his car keys at Sam who deftly caught them.

“Whatever,” Sam retorted, heading back to the Impala.

It was novel, this idea of doing something for New Year’s. But it would be pretty damn lame to not partake in what was to be Dean and Sam’s only ever millennium changeover. 

Christmas had passed over with no real incidents, this year being more sombre than either Winchester wanted. Sure, Bobby, Ellen and Jo had done their best to keep up some semblance of family spirit, but it was a bit of a waste, considering how little Christmas had meant to the brothers anyway. It wasn’t like John spent a bunch of time impressing them with the spirit of Santa Claus. The break had been good, though. Jo came home from college with tons of stupid stories and a slew of photos about her travels across the midwest. She wasn’t sure about whether or not her current program was working out, but Ellen had driven it home that Jo’d better not be squandering the savings she and her late husband had put down for Jo when she was little. That money was for school, remember?

Anyway, the drive up from the apartment had been pretty good. Dean and Cas dragged back so much laundry, their respective families had made similar faces along the lines of ‘really?’

After Dean had dropped Cas off with his family and their neatly decorated and trimmed gingerbread-style house, he’d made his way back to Bobby’s. It was weird to still be staying in his old room. Dean had left quite a lot of his crap at Bobby’s, but still, he felt too big, too old for the small twin bed.

Sam liked to remind Dean that his bedroom downtown had a mattress only, but yeah. It was _his_ mattress. Funny how things changed.

A whistle had Dean spin about. His face split into a wide grin. 

“Wooo!” Jo ran across the field, oversize coat swinging behind her and a large bag swinging from her hand, arms wide. 

When she threw herself at Dean, he stumbled back with a laugh.

“Been drinking, Harvelle?” he asked.

She punched his shoulder. “No. Can’t a girl just be happy to see you?”

Dean snorted.

“Hey Ash,” he crowed. “God damn it’s been too long.”

“Well, there’s this thing called ‘internet’, bro. All you gotta do is sign on, and I dunno, talk to me?”

“Hah, yeah okay, I’ll get right on that.” Truth be told, Internet and things like full cable TV were a bit beyond Cas and Dean. Extra expenses that were not worth it. Plus, Dean wasn’t one for crazy technology anyway. Internet. Psh.

“You’re welcome!” someone cried. “Your chauffeur shall wait, shall he?”

Two figures loped through the mist. “Gabe, that you?” Dean’s grin only got wider. And sure, there he was, Gabriel Novak trudging alongside his younger brother who was swaddled up like a freakin’ stay-puft man. “Cas,” Dean sniggered, patting his roommate’s wool-hat-clad head.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas rumbled from beneath a scarf. He held up a hand. “We brought snacks. Gabriel indicated it would be polite to provide party foods. So we have chips and dip.”

“Hey, I love dip!” Dean crowed. “Oh, here’s Sammy.”

Sam stumbled towards the group with two massively heavy blankets thrown over his shoulders.

“Hey, aren’t those my Mom’s?” Jo asked, coming around.

“Dunno,” Sam said, handing one over.

Gabriel grabbed the other one. “Jay-sus, boy, you been takin’ steroids?”

Sam smirked. “You’re shrinking, Gabe.”

“Shut your face,” Gabe said good-naturedly. “Cas, help me with this friggin’ thing.”

So while the Novaks spread out the very thick warm blankets, Dean and Sam helped Jo and Ash lay out the snacks and drinks.

“Wine?” Ash peered at Jo’s provisions. “What? We fancy folks now?”

Jo pulled out a stack of plastic cups. “Was a present from my prof.”

“Ew, pervy,” Ash added.

Jo rolled her eyes. “My prof is female, jackass. And her husband runs a winery, so we all got free bottles. Deal with it. It’s free.”

“What time is it?” Dean asked, coming to stand beside his brother. Sam checked his watch. “Five minutes. We all ready?”

Dean dashed over to the box of fireworks and began handing out sparklers.

“Ooo, it’s like being five again,” Gabe cheered. “Remember your birthday, Cas? Remember crying when Dad lit up a sparkler on your cake?”

“I was five,” Cas responded, thanking Dean for his sparkler. “And sparks were terrifying.”

Dean pulled out a lighter. “You got fire, Gabe?”

“Yep,” Gabriel pulled out his own lighter.

Dean grinned. “Sweet. Okay, you light everyone’s sparklers. Now sit back and relax, folks.”

He walked over to Sam, who was smiling broadly, excited.

“Can you believe we’re going into the year two thousand?” Gabe said, scooting on the blanket beside his brother.

“Well, it does follow,” Cas nodded, watching Dean organize Sam’s next steps.

“Thirty seconds!” Jo yelped, throwing herself beside Ash.

“Come on, Cas,” Gabe said, nudging his brother’s shoulder. “Smile a little, bro.”

“I am smiling,” Cas responded. 

“All right everyone,” Dean crowed, raising the cups Ash passed him. He tipped a little into the extra cup and passed it to Sam.

“That’s probably illega-“ Cas started but was cut off.

“To 1999!” Dean cried, raising his cup higher. “To a shitty decade, shitty century and shitty year!”

“Aw, dude,” Ash said. 

“Five!” Jo yelled.

The group made a hasty countdown, fully unprepared and uncoordinated. When they hit one, everyone yelled, “Happy New Year!” Sam jumped high and threw back his drink like it was water. Then he winced.

The others cheered and clapped loudly as Dean bent over with his lighter.

Cas blinked when Gabriel leaned over to light the sparkler dangling from his fingers.

“Careful!” His brother yelled. “Don’t cry, Cas!”

A sudden screeching whistle had them look up. An explosion of light shot into the sky and the others all whooped loudly as the sparkle exploded high above them. Sam and Dean dashed about their setup, firing off all the rockets and fireworks they’d prepped.

Cas stared, wide-eyed as the fireworks whizzed and popped and banged around the starlit sky. It was beautiful and enchanting, even with Jo and Ash whooping and whistling like idiots. He felt his mouth go lax, even as his own sparkler fizzled out.

Dean and Sam were laughing, standing nearby, faces tilted up. They definitely looked like siblings when their faces mirrored one another. Cas watched them, noting how the blue and green fireworks lit up Dean’s eyes and face.

Cas smiled.

“There we go,” Gabe nudged him. “That’s the smile I’m talking about.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Dean: 21 -  Sam: 17**

 

A knock at the door had Dean grousing about uninvited visitors.

“I swear, Cas, you’ve been in the shower for like ten years.”

He threw open the door, surprised to find himself staring down at a petite chick with a leather jacket.

She looked up, eyes roving over Dean’s t-shirt and jeans combo.

“Well, aren’t you a sight?” the chick drawled with a smile.

Dean peered down at her. “Do I know you?”

She smirked, “Unfortunately, no. I never forget a beefcake. It’s like forgetting a great restaurant, you know?” She flipped her dark curly locks over one shoulder.

“Then what the hell do you want?” Dean was not in the mood for campaigners or whatever. He had a headache rivalling the roadwork being done just outside their building.

The chick tutted, “I’m here for Castiel, big boy. He in?”

Dean blinked, “Cas? What?”

The chick rolled her eyes. “You must be Dan. Castiel never mentioned you were half comatose.”

“ _Dean_ ,” he groused. There was something about this chick that grated on him. It might be the way she talked, or how lackadaisical she appeared. Either way, he decided she sucked.

She waved her hand. “Oh, honey, I don’t care.”

“Don’t call me hon-“ Dean started, gritting his teeth.

“Meg?” a voice said behind him. Dean turned, annoyed at his roommate’s timing. Cas stood there in fresh jeans and a tee, his dark hair wet and shiny.

“Hello handsome,” this _Meg_ all but hummed. She eyed Dean. “Mind getting your guard dog to back off?”

Cas frowned. “I don’t under-“

“He’s like one of those Boxers, those big dogs. All mess and slobber but utterly lost.”

Dean glared at her and stepped back.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” she smiled sweetly.

“You didn’t say you’d be visiting,” Cas’ voice was low and soft, questioning. 

“This is called a surprise, angel. You know, how else am I gonna get you outside when there’s no school on? The Drive-in’s playing a horror fest, you know?”

“It’s the middle of April,” Cas said with a furrow of his brow.

“And he doesn’t have a car,” Dean piped in.

Meg just twirled to eye Dean some more. “You still here? I have _my own_ wheels. Independent woman and all. Must be a strange experience for you.”

Dean scowled.

“Yeah? Well there’s a door behind you. Think you can figure out how to use it?”

“Touchy,” Meg clicked her tongue, smiling wide. “Didn’t tell me your house-husband was a stand-up comic, angel.”

“Meg.”

Cas’ voice made Dean look up. That was … too familiar. Cas had a tilt to his head and his eyes never looked away from this chick. Were these two actually … friends?

“Aw, don’t give me that look,” She cooed with a smile. 

“Don’t be rude to Dean. He lives here too.”

She eyed their apartment. “And such a glamorous castle it is.”

“I live here too,” Cas said.

Meg shrugged. “Come on, sweets. Let’s blow this popstand, huh?”

Cas sighed. “Yes, all right. I suppose I owe you for last week.”

“Damn right you do,” she winked.

What did they get up to last week? Dean watched them make their way to Cas’ room.

“Whatever,” he breathed, walking over to his own room where his pile of laundry was half sorted.

He pulled out socks from one pair of work jeans, flicking them at the pile to the side.

He surveyed the clothing spread out before him. God, it had been a while since he’d dragged his shit down for a cleaning.

“Hey, Cas!” Dean bellowed louder than necessary.

“Yes?” came Cas’ response.

“You got laundry? I got room for more!” Dean kicked at some undies that were trying to make their escape from the colours pile.

Cas poked his head in the door, shrugging into a hoody. “I do, but it’s not sorted. You can go ahead without it.”

“Dude, you know it’s cheaper when we get full loads. You got some whites at least? I barely got anything-“

“Mmmm,” came that now familiar drawl. Dean’s head snapped up. “Nice digs, Ken doll.”

“Did I invite you?” Dean snapped. God, this chick was annoying.

Meg surveyed his room with a smirk curling at her lips. “Doesn’t look like much of a party.”

Perhaps Cas could see the annoyance flaring in Dean’s face. He pulled Meg back. “We should go. See you later, Dean. Shouldn’t be too late.”

Meg made a humphing sound. “Not unless I get my paws on your-“

“ _Meg,”_ Cas cut her off hastily. “Bye Dean.”

Dean didn’t even have a word for their retreating backs. Was this chick for real? What was she implying? What were they getting up to? Why the _fuck_ hadn’t Dean ever heard of her before this? Was Cas keeping her secret? Why?

Something bitter bubbled in Dean’s stomach and he heard the front door click shut.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean hissed, stomping out of his room and over into Cas’.

“Not wasting money. Lazy bastard.” He dug around his roommate’s bedroom. This wasn’t too unusual. Cas and Dean’s friendship extended into the realms of digging through personal hygiene issues. It became a necessity when one time the weird smell that permeated the apartment had stemmed from an old bowl of cereal under Dean’s ancient work overalls. When he got drunk, he liked cereal, go figure.

Cas’ clothes at least were piled up in a laundry basket, something that was beyond Dean. 

“Ugh,” Dean breathed heavily as he dug through the clothing.

He tugged at some screwed up socks and unfortunately some undies. Hey, reality sucked but someone had to wash Cas’ delicates.

Dean paused. Speaking of delicates…

He tugged at a silky strap peeking out of the mess of clothing.

Dean’s eyes widened when he spilled out what was clearly some kind of thong. 

“The hell you up to, Cas?” Dean asked, peering at the skimpy piece of fabric. The tag was hanging free. “Huh.”

Sure, the thought of Cas being into ladies’ panties wasn’t the weirdest thing Dean could think of, but then these were definitely not for Cas. They were size small. Cas was slim, but he sure as all hell was not exactly petite.

The face of that chick Meg flashed across Dean’s vision.

“Ugh,” he dropped the panties. “God.”

Dean bent down and snatched up whatever whites he could reach before hastily exiting the bedroom.

“Fucking bullshit,” Dean hissed, preparing for a long morning of detergent and wet clothes.

 

* * *

 

It was late when Cas got home. He carefully shut the front door.

“Dean?” he asked carefully, seeing his roommate’s bedroom door was wide open, lights on.

“Living room,” came a dull reply.

Cas nodded and went to drop his hoody off in his own room.

When he moved into the living room, he wasn’t surprised to find Dean slouching across the sofa, TV flickering across some animated show.

“What’s this?” Cas asked, watching the characters wail on the screen.

“Futurama,” Dean mumbled.

“Oh,” Cas blinked.

He looked Dean over. The other man had obviously showered and gotten ready for bed, his sweats slouching on his hips, his old Zep t-shirt faded and stretched.

“Sammy called,” Dean said. “Wants to come visit next weekend. That ok?”

Cas nodded. “Of course. It’ll be nice to see him again.”

Dean rolled his eyes and sat up. He tilted his neck from side-to-side. “You make it sound so formal, dude.”

Cas shrugged as Dean stood.

“Hungry?” Dean asked, finally making eye contact. He was standing very close, eyes flashing with the reflection from the TV. Cas bit his lower lip.

“Um, I could eat, yes.”

“Good,” Dean pushed past, scratching at his scalp. “I made spaghetti.”

Cas blinked then followed.

Once in the kitchen, he settled into one of their small wooden chairs that butted against their comically flimsy kitchen table. Dean was pulling plates out of the cupboard above the toaster. The newly replaced toaster that Cas had paid for, in repentance for burning out the last one.

Dean lifted a lid on a pot that sat on the stove.

Cas twiddled his thumbs for a bit while Dean scooped out meat and spaghetti onto two plates.

“Dean,” Cas murmured when his roommate had put down the heavy kitchen utensils. “Did you wait up for me?”

Dean turned with a cocked brow. “I was up, dude. Why? You don’t want any homemade goodness?”

Cas shook his head, “Of course I do. Your cooking is wonderful.”

“Damn straight,” Dean retorted. Though he said it like he always did, with a sense of macho ego, there was something amiss. Dean seemed stiff at the shoulders. Uncomfortable, even.

Cas chose to let it go, knowing full well that they were not allowed to talk about _feelings_. Or anything remotely close to emotions. Cas would have to do what he always did: wait it out.

Though it was strange for Cas to not know what was annoying Dean. Usually he got a _hint_. Though Cas didn’t trust his ability to read everyone well, at least with Dean he knew more of the signs.

When Dean handed him a plate full of meat and pasta, Cas couldn’t help smiling. “It smells delicious,” he murmured. Dean grabbed cutlery before sitting in his own seat. Funny how things evolved to a point where they both had designated seats. Cas never sat where Dean sat because that was _Dean’s_ chair.

The first bite was amazing. Cas couldn’t help the hum of gratification as the flavourful sauce tingled across his tastebuds.

Dean was staring at his own food as he ate. His brow was furrowed.

“I noticed you did my laundry,” Cas murmured after his second mouthful. “Thank you.”

Dean looked up, face impassive. “Yeah, well we can’t all be slobs.”

Cas smiled. “I appreciate it.”

Dean was silent as he bit into more of the warm food. Cas watched him.

He didn’t want this to become awkward. Cas hated awkwardness. He was surrounded by it so often, that having it at home made him squeamish. 

“Dean-“ Cas began, looking up.

“I thought you were into guys,” Dean blurted, looking up too. He had a face full of frustration.

Cas blinked.

Dean shook his head. “You’re gay, Cas. Right? Haven’t you always said that?”

He carefully chose his words. “Um, well-“ but was cut off.

“Because if you’re gay, what the hell was that this morning?” Dean glared at him then.

“This morning?” Cas tilted his head. “You mean Meg?”

“Yeah, her,” Dean bit out. He was gripping his fork like it was a lifeline.

Cas cleared his throat. “Well, I have always been very clear, Dean. Well, in the last few years, I think.” He blinked up at Dean. “I, perhaps, used to believe I was exclusively gay, but as I’ve said before, men are more of a preference, not an exclusive choice.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” Dean bit out.

“It means,” Cas said slowly, placing his cutlery down. “That I may tend towards men, but I also find women attractive, Dean.”

Dean blinked in that adorably angry way of his.

“So you swing both ways all of a sudden?” Dean blurted, like it was some assault on his senses.

“All of a sudden? Dean, I’ve never denied-“

“No, wait, hold up,” Dean slammed his fork down. “You’ve only ever dated guys. Dudes. Whatever their names were, who cares, but they were freakin’ dudes!”

Cas’ mouth dropped open, confusion across his features. “Dean, what-“

“That chick, Meg? What was that? Are you fucking her, Cas?”

Well.

 

Cas thought about softening his words, or evading the question. He really wasn’t sure why this was relevant. “I … yes?”

 

Dean’s brows went high, chin dipping patronizingly. “You sure about that?”

Cas nodded. “I, well, we haven’t been, um, sleeping together long, but yes, we have a sexual relationship. Not that it is any of your business.”

“Fuck that,” Dean snapped. “You been seeing this chick for weeks? What, months? Why didn’t you tell me, huh?”

Cas saw Dean’s eyes flash. God, it was happening again. He always did this. 

“I don’t like her,” Dean added.

Okay, now that was out of line. Cas frowned. “It’s still none of your business, Dean. I do not need you to like Meg. You don’t even know her.”

“Saw enough,” Dean said with a roll of his eyes.

Cas’ gaze hardened. He didn’t expect Dean to understand. Dean was simple, easy to get to know. He didn’t have trouble meeting people, gaining friends, finding sleeping partners. For Cas, it was like a long, uphill battle. Certainly, he didn’t crave companionship, not the way Dean did. But sometimes … _sometimes_ , someone looked at Cas like he was worth getting to know. 

Meg was like that. Within the first minute of meeting her gaze, he knew she’d been interested. Sure, she was acidic and abrasive, but she was honest, blunt, never lying. She was clear in her words and so sure of herself that Cas couldn’t help admiring her.

“You don’t have to like her,” Cas said, voice rough. That made Dean look up. “But you have no right to take it out on me. The whole world doesn’t revolve around you.”

“Yeah?” Dean leaned across the small space, face so close to Cas’ their breath mingled. Cas heart skipped a beat. “Well, maybe it should.”

“That makes no sense,” Cas said, annoyed.

“You make no sense,” Dean snapped, standing abruptly. “You can clean up. I did the laundry.”

And with that, he stomped out of the kitchen like some bent-out-of-shape spouse.

Cas stared at the empty space, wondering what he’d done wrong, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay. Usually I update on Sundays and, well, I didn't. :{ Truth be told, I totally forgot to click 'post'.


	11. chapter 11

**Dean: 21 -  Sam: 17**

 

 

Dean was being petulant. He fully understood this fact but being able to tear himself away from his annoyance and embarrassment was easier said than down. For days he made sure to leave the apartment early, ensuring he wouldn’t bump into Cas. He ended up not only eating at work, but also staying out late with Charlie of all people. Charlie was perhaps a bit quizzical about why Dean Winchester was always calling her up for dinner or game time, but like the clever girl she was, she didn’t push him on it. 

 

On the Thursday following his and Cas’ disagreement, or shitshow as Dean liked to think of it, she forcibly kicked him out of her dorm.

“I actually have to study, jackass,” Charlie said, shoving Dean through her door. “And you need to shower. You smell like ten kinds of grilled cheese and gasoline.”

 

And so, Dean found himself at a bar, one of the few places that never carded him, never questioned his slouching on one of the few free barstools.

A leggy brunette made a point of chatting to him, all coy glances and hints, but he just couldn’t be bothered.

By his third whiskey, he felt his eyes blinking slowly.

“Damnit,” he rumbled to himself. He was such a fucking asshole sometimes. He’d basically torn a strip off Cas for getting a girlfriend. What the fuck kind of shit was that? Why was that such a fucking issue? So apparently Cas liked the cooch, just like Dean. Not exactly a crime, was it? It was fucking juvenile to take it out on Cas. Cas, who was far too patient with Dean and his Goddamn PMS.

 

He slapped a few hard-earned bills on the counter and all but fell off the barstool.

He really did need a shower. 

 

* * *

 

 

The apartment was empty when he got in. “Thank God,” he breathed. In a matter of sluggish moments, he dragged together some pjs and headed into the shower.

The water was hot as hell and exactly what he needed. He’d been working himself hard. His job was mindless but exhausting. As the water sluiced over his shoulders, Dean dropped his head forward. God, he was gonna have to apologize, wasn’t he? What kind of man avoided his roommate because he himself had caused a damn ruckus over a nice meal of homemade spaghetti? Dean grabbed the closest shampoo. He squinted. It was a yellow bottle. Definitely not Dean’s. He warily sniffed it and sighed. Smelled like Cas, this one. He felt a smirk work its way across his lips before squirting some of the citrusy gel onto a palm. He felt devilishly evil using Cas’ product. As Dean scraped it though his hair, he reveled in the warm water as it rinsed the grime and grease off his skin.

He soaped up and scrubbed himself clean, considering for a moment, the validity of using those weird scrubby sponges all the girls he fucked would use. Exfoliation, they called it. Seemed like quite the thing these days. Dead skin cells and shit. Weird what people got into.

Once clean, he turned off the shower, annoyed by its incessant creak and shudder. Maybe he should take a look at the pipes. Lord knows Cas wasn’t bothered and definitely wasn’t inclined to plumbing in general.

His towel was rough as he dried off, but it got the job done. Dean’s head felt thick and a headache was creeping around his temples.

He slipped into his warm flannel pants and the Mario t-shirt with the myriad of tears in the hem and sleeves. Sam had given it to hime so long ago, it was starting to stretch a little too much. Pretty soon he’d not be able to fit into it.

Steam billowed out of the small room when he opened the door. He scrubbed his hair roughly and threw the now sodden towel into his room.

Dean felt like watching TV. It was only nine so there was probably something decent on the few crappy channels they had.

When he passed the kitchen, a sound made him pause.

Dean pivoted, spotting Cas with a mug raised to his lips. Those wide blue eyes stared back, eyebrows high.

“Er…” Dean breathed. “Hi.”

He turned away again, not waiting for a response, and ambled into the living room, making sure to splay himself across most of the sofa.

When he found the remote, Dean made it his sole duty to keep it close. He didn’t want to deal with Cas. But he also kinda did.

The screen flickered as he flipped channels, biting his lip.

A hand came into view and Dean blinked, tilting his head up.

Cas was holding a glass of water.

“You’ve been drinking,” Cas murmured deeply. His other hand unfolded, revealing two pain pills.

Dean cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.” He took the offered items, throwing back the pills with a wash of water. He placed the glass on the floor beside the sofa, wishing once again for the magical appearance of a coffee table. God, they really had no functional furniture.

Dean glanced up, knowing full well that Cas hadn’t moved.

Something moved on Cas’ shoulder.

“Oh, Dante,” Dean couldn’t help smiling, seeing the green and grey lizard clinging to the shoulder seam of Cas’ tee. The guy was so small, Dean was perpetually worried he’d get out of his safe little haven and be trampled by Dean’s work boots.

“Hmm, he wanted to go on a field trip,” Cas said, lifting his shoulder. Cas blinked at Dean.

Dean sighed. He tapped the seat beside him and scooted over. “Sit. For God’s sake stop giving me the puppy eyes.”

Cas frowned.

“Okay,” Dean breathed, feeling his nerves give way. “Cas, I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry I fucked up and shat all over you.”

His roommate just stood there, looking like a ruffled statue. Dante’s mouth open and closed, his eyes rolling around carefully.

“You gonna make me apologize forever? What do you want? A friggin’ nobel peace prize?”

Cas blinked. “You were irrational, Dean.”

“When am I not?” Dean threw up a hand in frustration. “You know me, Cas. You know how fucking stupid I get. I don’t even know why I was so fucking mad, all right?”

Cas lifted his hand so as to gently grab Dante. The little lizard just yawned, it seemed, like everything was such a bore.

“Would you like to hold him?” Cas asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

Dean leaned forward. “Yes?” His hands went up, eager. Cas gently lowered the little guy into Dean’s palms. Dante didn’t move very fast, but he managed to look a little worried, toes clasping at Dean’s skin. 

Cas watched as, no doubt, Dean’s eyes lit up. Dean pulled Dante close, letting the lizard balance on the edge of his palm, tail infinitesimally curling around Dean’s finger.

Cas sat down beside Dean, watching.

“He’s so damn cute, Cas,” Dean murmured, glancing over.

Cas shrugged. 

“Look at this face,” Dean cooed just as Dante’s mouth opened, pink tongue furled inside. “He eaten?” 

Cas nodded.

“Ok, good. Gross and disgusting, but good.” The whole live worms and bugs deal was not very appealing, never had been, but it was pretty run-of-the-mill for Cas. So long as Dean didn’t have to hold bags of crickets or partake in the weird feedings, he was good. What was going on now was better. Dean never got to hold or even see Dante out of his home. Cas said it was not good to freak the little guy out, so Cas rarely moved him. Dean was extra careful though.

Dean glanced at Cas. Son of a bitch knew this would waylay Dean’s earlier rant.

Cas really _did_ know him. 

Dean sighed. “Sorry, Cas. I shouldn’t have said all that shit.”

Cas blinked. “Apology accepted.”

“Really?” Dean asked. Again? Cas would just let him go, again?

Cas looked at him, blue eyes flicking between Dean’s own green. “Yes, Dean. Though I am confused as to why you lost your temper the other day, I do accept your apology.”

Dean just watched him back.

“Can we just say I’m a complete dick and leave it at that?”

Cas blinked again. “Or we can figure out why you were mad.”

“Or we can shut up and never speak about it, like, ever?”

Cas made a face, the usual _Dean-stop-acting-like-a-baby_ face. 

“I don’t wanna…” Dean huffed, turning back to the little cold lump in his hand. He felt like even Dante was eyeing him.

The TV blared mindlessly.

“Okay,” Cas murmured, leaning back into the scuffed cushions.

And the two of them just wallowed in slightly awkward, but warm silence.

When the show they’d been staring at rolled to an end, Cas mumbled something about putting Dante to bed.

Dean almost whined, hating to have to give up his little charge, but Cas was pretty strict about Dante’s well-being. Chameleons weren’t big on socializing, apparently.

Dean stared at his now empty hand while Cas disappeared to his room.

When Cas reappeared, Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Okay, maybe his roommate didn’t hate him forever or want to move out and leave Dean friendless and an asshole forever.

 

* * *

 

 

“This show is mind-numbing,” Cas murmured a couple hours later.

The two men hadn’t moved since settling in for late-night TV. Cas had both feet curled up and crossed, cushion in his lap. Dean was just slumped there like a sack of potatoes.

Dean automatically switched to Cartoon Network.

Cas watched the screen for a bit. “I like this show,” he murmured.

“You would,” Dean said wearily, head lolling against the back of the couch. “We stay up late enough, maybe we can get to the skin channel, huh?”

He could practically hear Cas’ eyes rolling in their sockets.

“Only you would make the mental leap from a perpetually terrified purple cartoon dog to sex.”

Dean snorted. “Bit late to be complaining.” He smacked Cas’ knee. “Deal with it, compadre.”

Cas shifted. Dean glanced over, aware of how only the kitchen light was on, giving soft backlight to Cas’ profile along with the light from the TV.

Cas might be the weirdest person to ever weird the weird, but he was pretty awesome. Sure, the guy liked spending his cash on healthy organic weird food rather than on movies, but was that so bad? Dean’s cash-flow being what it was, maybe it just seemed stupid to spend money on stuff that was just gonna get eaten anyway. Cas would argue that movie-going was overly pricey and hardly added anything to one’s mental capacity or health.

Dean probably lucked out having a non-invasive roomie, though. Cas knew Dean’s boundaries and never crossed them. He didn’t touch Dean’s stuff, except on clean-up day, and he never badgered Dean about anything too specific.

Sure, he’d ask about Sammy but he never veered into John territory. He never argued with Dean about his choices, about his life, his work, his priorities. Cas just kinda went with it. He would sometimes tag along on Dean’s stupid ventures and even at other times, like when Dean had been so hungover once he’d hugged the porcelain express for like three hours, Cas had just kept him company and cleaned up and never said a word about having to stay up late making sure Dean didn’t asphyxiate himself in his own vomit.

Dean blinked, watching Cas in the dark room. Now probably was one of those times when he should be appreciating the guy rather than shitting on _his_ life choices. But they were weird choices, right? It wasn’t a big deal, not really, that Cas was into dudes. Sure, Dean had kind of had a mental fit when he realized back in high school, but it made sense, he supposed. Cas would always be the odd duckling. But girls too? Girls were different, Dean figured.

And the kid was coming out of his shell. Making friends, going to parties. What was next?

 

Well, logically, a relationship.

 

Isn’t that what people did? Got over their childhood insecurities, found themselves, had wild life-changing epiphanies and then promptly fell in love? Hand-holding and dates, then a house and kids and shit? Funny that Dean hadn’t ever grouped Cas in that category. In his own selfish way he’d just always imagined Cas as his buddy, at the ready. Always there when Dean came a-callin’.

 

So why was this Meg thing such a friggin’ big deal?

 

Dean blinked slowly, eyes sliding over Cas’ face.

 

“You’re staring,” Cas rumbled suddenly.

 

“Uh-huh,” Dean murmured.

 

Now wasn’t the time… but ah hell.

 

“So you’re into guys and chicks?” he blurted.

Cas slowly turned to look at him.

“I’m not asking to be an ass,” Dean quickly said. “Honestly, genuinely … just asking. Is all.”

Dean bit his lip, hoping he hadn’t pissed Cas off.

Cas nodded slowly. “Yes.”

Cool. Okay. Breathe.

“So … you’re bi?”

Cas sighed. “I don’t really like labelling myself, Dean. It’s … confining. Can’t a person just be who they are without everyone questioning everything?”

Dean blinked.

“Well, sure. I guess. Sorry. Just curious.”

“Everyone’s curious. Everyone’s judgmental too.” Cas sounded weary, like he’d had this conversation one too many times before.

“Well,” Dean swallowed. “Um, it’s not like I have any other friends who are bi. ’S far as I know.”

Cas turned back to blink in the dim light. He looked good like this. This was Cas’ kinda space. Even with the TV flickering away, it seemed dull against Cas’ expression. The way the guy just _stared;_ unnerving mostly, but so typically _Cas._

“I suppose you don’t,” Cas mumbled. “So what? You have questions?”

Dean bit his lip. Hell _yeah_ he had questions. Shit, his brain hadn’t stopped steamrolling over every possible theory, thought and query slamming about in his dumb skull.

“Maybe,” Dean said softly. He didn’t want to scare Cas off.

Lucky for Dean, the Novak wasn’t easily frightened.

 

“Are you and … Meg, a thing?”

 

The question hung heavily in the air before Cas responded almost thoughtfully.

 

“I–well, I’m not sure. I’ve never really had a ‘thing’ before.”

Dean blinked. “What you talkin’ bout? You’ve been dating dudes and stuff.”

Cas blinked, the bright cartoons casting strange discoloration across his skin. Whatever show was on involved some kind of shrill screaming and sound effects. Dean grabbed the remote and flipped the TV to mute.

“Uh, dating? Not really.” Cas seemed uncomfortable.

Dean sat up straighter. “Dude, I’ve met like, three random guys in our apartment. I sure as hell didn’t bring ‘em home with me, unless Budweiser’s handing out free firemen with every sixpack.”

That made Cas smile. “They were … uh … just men.”

“You skank,” Dean teased.

“Dean,” Cas admonished.

“Okay, okay. No slang shit. But seriously, like you never _dated_ those guys?”

Cas shrugged, “I meet people sometimes in coffee shops, or the library. They always seem nice at first. But then, I don’t know, it wears off.”

“But you totally fuck, right?” Dean blurted, interest peeking through.

He’d tried for most of the time he’d lived with Cas to _not_ think of the Novak in weird pretzel-like sex games with guys. It kinda made Dean’s skin crawl.

“I am only answering due to your need for education and with hope that you will never put me through this again,” Cas said simply.

Dean nodded. Cool. Deal.

Cas sighed. “I have sexual intimacy, on occasion. I wouldn’t call it ‘fucking’ as you so eloquently put it.”

Dean licked his lips. “You do butt things?” God, what was falling out of his _mouth?_ He had fuckin’ verbal diarrhea? _Jesus._

Cas cocked a brow. “Butt things?”

“You know,” Dean waved a hand about as though it explained the deep intricacies of homosexual relations. His face flushed. “ _Butt_ things _.”_

“Do you have anal sex with women, Dean?” Cas retorted.

What? “Uh, no.” Except that one time - with Rhonda. She’d asked for some stuff and hell if Dean wasn’t against experimenting. He’d tried stuff with her, sure. “Okay, maybe once. On her. With a chick,” he glared at Cas quickly, as though his roommate might suddenly assume Dean was buttfucking guys in alleyways or somethin’.

Cas actually smiled, probably at Dean’s furnace of a face.

“You’re quite adorable when you blush,” he chuckled.

“Shaddup,” Dean swiped at the cushion in Cas’ lap and smacked it over Cas’ head. “Tryin’ to be serious, here.”

Cas actually laughed, the cushion falling to the floor. “Okay. Well, I’ve tried some ‘butt stuff’ as you call it. Not much, to be honest.”

Dean blinked. “Not your cup of tea?”

Cas squinted at him. “Do you really want details?”

“Uh, probably not, no,” Dean read that in Cas’ expression.

“Basically,” Cas said, “I’ve found it difficult to be overly close with other people. A person who is friendly and charming in a public setting doesn’t necessarily remain that way once alone with them.”

“Hey, I’m charming,” Dean said for a laugh. “And I get _allll_ the ladies.”

“I’m sure you do,” Cas said with a small smile. “I suppose I don’t just want any old person touching me. Nor do I want to necessarily touch them.”

Dean had to ponder that. He could understand, he wasn’t a moron. He himself had many a stupid romp in the hay with complete strangers, but truth be told, he hated seeing them again, especially on the school campus or at a restaurant, fully clothed. Oh God, like that one time he saw Shannon _teaching_ a fucking college class once when Dean had popped int to drop off some of Cas’ books for him. It was all kinds of awkward. Made him wonder every time why he’d bothered with them, these women, at all.

 

“But you still–“ Dean cut himself off by clipping his teeth shut.

 

Cas stared at him. “I still what?”

 

God, shit, awkward. Dean licked his lips. There had been a moment, a second in time once when he’d wondered if Cas ever looked at him like any of those guys. Just based on the fact that Cas was into dudes, Dean had wondered if his prime-specimen ass had ever been on the Novak’s radar. It had been weird to think that back then, back in high school. Back when it was kinda gross and weird and made Dean squirmy and uncomfortable. It was still weird now, but Dean had finally had it smacked into him (by Charlie) that just ‘cos a guy was gay didn’t mean he’d wanna touch just any ol’ guy’s ass.

 

“You still get horny?” Dean breathed. “I mean, like I do. I get horny a _lot._ Which is probably my issue. You know? Kind of annoying, but also awesome?” He fumbled over the words, feeling like an ass for presuming anything.

 

Cas laughed then. A small rumble. Still weird coming out of such a fucking cute face, that sound.

‘Cos Cas was cute. If Dean didn’t admit that, he’d be a dick. If every chick on the planet (and that tall cowboy at that party) got to say and think it, then Dean could too.

 

“You’re cute, Cas,” Dean blurted. “You probably could get any guy, or girl, I guess, if you tried.”

 

That stopped the smile almost immediately. Cas stared at him, eyes wide.

 

“Aw, c’mon dude, ’s not like you’ve never heard that one before!” Dean laughed this time, covering up his embarrassment. “Oh my God, are you blushing now? Hah!”

“Dean, stop,” Cas murmured, turning his pink cheeks away.

Dean scooched over on the sofa and clambered to his knees. “Aw come on, cutie-pie, Cas. You’re cute! I can say it ‘cos I’m you’re best friend, okay?” Dean grabbed Cas’ cheeks and gave them tiny pinches, turning the Novak’s head his way.

Dean leaned in close, watching those blue eyes widen, dark lashes blinking against tan cheeks. “Hey Cas,” Dean whispered conspiratorially. “You’re a hunk.”

He could practically _feel_ the heat coming off those cheeks now. 

“Dean, stop that,” Cas’ hands came up to grab Dean’s wrists. They just settled there as Dean ran his thumbs over Cas’ skin.

Dean’s grin felt wild, childish and his heart was beating a little faster. Like when he was fourteen and he’d wrestled playfully with that girl in his class, whatever her name was. She’d even had a skirt on and yeah, young hormonal Dean was not a clever Dean.

“Dean,” Cas breathed, warm breath mingling with Dean’s.

A shiver tingled its way down Dean’s spine. This felt so familiar. Like with a chick, when he got to get in real close for the first time, when she was giving him permission. It always made his blood zing with excitement.

Being this close to anyone was a mess.

“Hey,” Dean breathed, eyes flicking down to Cas’ lips. “Can I kiss you, Cas?”

Shit, his brain was firing like mad. What the fuck was he even doing? Cas was gonna punch his lights out.

He felt a gasp run through Cas. “Dean, why are you-“

“I dunno,” Dean breathed, hands sliding down Cas’ cheeks, feeling Cas’ neck. “I dunno.” At least he was being honest.

His heart thundered madly and his his thoughts ran along the lines of, _What are you doing, Winchester?_ and _Holy fuck Cas’ has pretty eyes_ and _Shit, you’re gonna mess this up!_

 

“You _want_ to kiss me?” Cas breathed out heavily, blinking those goddamn lashes at him.

 Dean nodded.

“Why do you want to?” Cas asked.

“I dunno,” Dean repeated. “I really don’t. But you have nice lips. They should be kissed by someone who knows how.”

Cas blinked then smiled. “Are you quoting Rhett Butler?”

“Who?” Dean said, licking his lips, distracted by Cas’ straight white teeth.

Cas’ hands let go of Dean’s wrists.

“Okay,” he said, clearing his throat.

Dean’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. “Okay?” he breathed, not understanding how things had gotten to this point. Whatever was happening was insane but it made his junk tingle, so fuck it.

Cas nodded, “Just one.”

“For science?” Dean added with a grin.

Cas rolled his eyes. “Dean-“

 

God. Cas’ lips were _plush._ Soft and warm and so much like a girl’s. Amazing.

Cas gave a squeak of surprise when Dean tilted his head and lined their lips up better. Dean had kinda meant it. Cas’ lips needed to be kissed by an expert. Dean wasn’t anything if not an expert.

 

Cas gently pushed at Dean’s chest after a moment.

 

Well, that had been _way_ too chaste.

“What is this?” Dean huffed, brows furrowed. “A Jane Austen novel?”

 

“What–” was all Cas could gasp out before Dean grabbed his face and kissed him the way he really wanted to. With tongue and teeth and breaths getting tangled and Cas’ hands grabbing at Dean’s hips.

“Mmm,” Dean hummed, tongue lapping across Cas lips, opening them up. “Come on, Cas.”

And Cas’ will broke, lips opening, tongue meeting Dean’s.

God, it was like heaven and hell all in one. Dean’s gut twisted and his heart hammered. He felt both elated and weirded out (mostly hot).

Cas’ tongue was wet and pliant and the tiny breaths and sounds the Novak gave out? Fucking _awesome_.  The stubble was new, but not gross. Kinda cool, as Dean scrubbed his palms over Cas’ cheeks again.

Cas was huffing into him, fingers clenching at the fabric of Dean’s worn out t-shirt. Dean wanted more, but Goddamn this stupid sofa.

Before his mind could wrap around the idea, Dean hefted a leg over Cas and pretty much straddled the guy before going to town on his lips.

Dean’s eyes were partly open, taking in the way Cas’ brows furrowed in concentration. Dean twisted his face about, going in from a different angle.

Holy fuck, Cas made adorable little sounds. Huffing and squeaking a bit all while Dean’s tongue played with his, their saliva mixing, their words getting destroyed between their breaths.

Shit, Dean was hard. He pulled back, hands now around Cas’ jaw.

Cas was leaning back into the sofa where Dean had apparently pressed into him. Dean’s weight sat heavily on his friend. Neither dared look down. Dean could figure that if he was sporting a Goddamn stiffy, then Cas might be too and he didn’t want to think about that. Not yet.

“Shit,” Dean huffed. “You’re pretty good, Cas.”

Cas just stared back at him, eyes wide, lips bruised and wet. He looked fucking awesome. Dean’s pride was totally bolstered by the idea that he could get a guy like this, the way he could with chicks.

“You okay?” Dean asked, finally realizing that maybe he’d overstepped his boundaries. Shit, he totally fuckin’ had.

Cas swallowed and nodded dazedly. “Yes?”

Dean leaned in and pressed his forehead to Cas’, staring into his friend’s eyes. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

He felt Cas fingers caressing his sides. Mmmm, that felt nice. No one ever petted him like that.

“I’m used to it,” Cas answered, voice a little breathy.

Dean blinked. “Sorry.” Again.

Cas licked his lips and stared up at him. Dean had never, ever been in this position before. Usually it was girls clambering into _his_ lap, not the other way round. Felt kinda … interesting.

“It’s … it’ll be okay, Dean,” Cas just said. Typical Cas with all the nobility of the friggin’ queen.

Dean sighed and climbed off Cas’ lap. “You’re way too nice to me, dude,” Dean mumbled into Cas’ shoulder.

A hand came up to press into his hair. Dean nuzzled closer, feeling warmth flood down his back.

“I’m sure lots of friends kiss on Thursday nights,” Cas said.

Dean barked out a laugh. Okay then. So maybe they’d be good. For real.

“That’s nice,” Dean murred as Cas’ hand petted him slowly. “Can I stay here a bit?”

Cas rumbled his assent.

 

“Of course you can, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins.


	12. chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is late, so I've split it into two pieces. One today, one tomorrow. :)

The next day Dean woke with a thundering headache. Seemed that the meds and water hadn’t done much to overcome his idiotic need to over drink.

He rolled onto his back, grateful that for once he had booked the weekend off. Sam was gonna be visiting. Yeah. Sam.

Dean stared at his ceiling. 

What the fuck had he done?

He sat up and rubbed a hand over his face. God. He looked around his room, the sunlight washing the walls with soft light. 

 

_He’d kissed Cas._

What kind of booze did that to a person? Made you climb into your friend’s lap and make out with him? What kind of weird-ass mojo was working its way through his blood?

 

He threw back the covers and stood up, stretching his overwrought muscles. Shuffling out into the apartment, he wasn’t surprised to find Cas sitting at their tiny kitchen table nursing a cup of what looked like tea, while doing the crossword.

Dean stopped at the doorway.

Cas looked up. His gaze swept over Dean’s scruffy pjs and probably mussed hair. “Good morning, Dean.” 

It should feel awkward. It should feel like the sky was falling, that their friendship was about to take a serious blow.

“Hey,” Dean grumbled, going to grab his favourite stash of coffee. “Sleep okay?”

He loaded up their second-hand coffee-machine and filled the water tank.

“I did,” Cas murmured, his voice a soft easing sound. “You?”

Dean glanced up at him. Looking at Cas and thinking about what they did, Dean knew he should feel the panic setting in. Maybe it was delayed? He knew how this would go, how awkward sexual shit always went: he’d pretend nothing happened and they’d either never speak of it again, and their friendship would go on for a while before it kind of faded away. Or, they’d struggle to ignore it, never speak of it again and explode one day. Not that Cas exploded, ever.

Dean would explode. Dean always exploded 

Dean looked at Cas, at those familiar blue eyes and that mess of bedhead. 

“You got school today?” he asked as the coffee machine popped and bubbled.

Cas nodded and sipped his tea. “Two classes. I should be home around seven. Sam’s going to be here, yes?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

“It should be fun shepherding him around this very bleak part of downtown.”

Sam was staying the weekend. He seemed to think it would be cool to hang out with his older brother and his socially inept roommate, because the ‘suburbs are boring’. Reality was, the older Winchester and the younger Novak basically inhabited a freakin’ mangy motel if anyone took the time to judge their living arrangements. God, the two of them were subsisting on coffee and mac and cheese most days.

 

“Dean?”

Cas was waiting. 

“We kissed,” Dean said, hands leaning against the counter as he eyed the coffeepot. _Nice topic change, Dean. Way to go._

And there was the overly large and overwhelming silence that was going to engulf them until everything broke.

“We did,” Cas answered.

Dean looked over. Cas blinked at him.

“I guess, well, technically, I kissed _you_ ,” Dean said, feeling his pulse picking up. “I shouldn’t have done that. You know. Uh, messed up.”

“You did, yes,” Cas nodded. “Kiss me, I mean.”

“That’s messed up, right?” Dean asked, turning to fold his arms across his chest. “Kissing your buddy? Your roommate?”

Cas looked at him and lowered his mug to the table. “Well, considering I too have kissed my roommate, I may not be the wisest person to question on the matter. What are the odds?” and the fucker actually _smiled._ He made a damn joke and slipped into that easy-going smile of his.

Dean bit back a laugh, chin dropping to his chest. “Damn weird odds.”

“I’ll say,” Cas said, pulling the newspaper back up to inspect his next word. “We should probably avoid any and all casinos in the near future.”

Dean looked up again, smile breaking across his face. “So what? No Vegas? No Atlantic City?”

Cas cocked a brow and eyed Dean with disdain. “Gambling is dangerous, Dean. And Vegas is rife with greed, pain and sadness. Don’t ever make me go there. 

Dean laughed, wondering why he ever thought that something as dumb and juvenile as a kiss could get Cas worked up.

 

* * *

  

The weekend flew by. Sam rode the bus in to see them, which had Dean in all kinds of rants and raves. Sam tried to justify it by saying it was really efficient and cost barely nothing and pretty much only took up his own time and not Dean’s, which was bullshit. They dumped Sam’s gear at the apartment, Sam bouncing around the space, loving how it was like Dean had his ‘own place’ with his own rules, his own ‘stuff’. It was weird and endearing, but lame too. Dean didn’t have much. But maybe it was the whole independence thing that looked ttractive. Sam didn’t have to work his nuts off 24/7. 

After finding themselves ravenous, they had a full-bodied meal at the local diner that made disgustingly huge burgers with a challenge of ‘eat it in six minutes and you get it free’, Yeah, that kind of place. Dean’s kind of place. Hours later, when Cas showed up, the two Winchesters were nursing bloated bellies and doling out horrendous gas bombs on the sofa back at the apartment. More than a few comments flew between Sam and Dean about how ‘tiny’ Cas had become, how Sam’s out-of-control growth was making the Novak the short one all of a sudden. It was true, though. Sam was the same height as Dean, so, six two at seventeen. Cas took the ribbing good-naturedly, unfazed by the giant puppy-like Winchester that may be tall, but wasn’t ever going to grow out of his hyped up moods and overzealous hugs.

All three stayed up late like they were _all_ in high school, drinking beer (only one for Sammy) and arguing about football (which bored Cas to tears).

Saturday went much the same, Cas and Dean taking Sam around the neighbourhood like a tourist, as if he hadn’t grown up not thirty minutes away. Sam was fascinated by Cas’ classes and schedule and massive textbooks. He pored over the books lining the edge of the floor in Cas’ room while Dean made lunch, then dinner. Not a comment was made about Dean’s choice of peas as the only vegetable. Sam probably knew it was a concession. Not broccoli, but hey, green food was green food. When Sunday rolled around, the three were taking advantage of the lie-in and the lazy morning TV. Sam dominated the sofa, knowing he’d pretty much outgrown the ability to share a bed with his oversized brother. Finding him with his feet hanging over the armrest was pretty damn amusing. Who could have blamed Dean for tickling those damn feet to hear the girlish squeals Sam could emit, and ending up in a wrestling match with a brother almost as strong as he was?

 

It had been fun for all, even Cas, who sometimes went quiet, watching the banter flip between one brother to the next.

So when it was time to pile Sam into the Impala, Cas agreed to accompany them back to the suburbs. It wasn’t a long way, and Dean was driving back after, so why not stop in to see his parents? 

Dean dropped Cas off at the pristine house he had grown up in before driving Sam the rest of the way to Bobby’s.

With just the two of them, it felt like old times.

“One more year and you’re done, huh?” Dean said as the streetlights flickered to life around them. 

“Yep,” Sam sighed from the passenger seat. “Crazy, huh?”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Dean shook his head. “Man, one minute you’re this little runt chasing me to the park every other day with your runny nose and the next you’re graduatin’ school. I dunno, Sammy. It’s like some kind of time-warp, making-it-big chick flick, ya know?”

Sam laughed. “Legally Blonde?” he grinned over at the older Winchester, remembering when they’d been forced to watch that with Jo and Ellen.

Dean snorted. “Well, you do look good in pink.”

Sam laughed loudly, head thrown back.

It was strange for Dean, this concept of his baby brother not being a baby anymore. It would be a huge surprise come next summer when Dean would be able to share the funds he’d been stashing away, scrounging, for Sammy’s education. And KU wasn’t too far off, so maybe the distance wouldn’t be a problem. Dean kept telling himself that. Sam was due more than this. He was too smart for the crap gigs that Dean went for. Sam was gonna be a hotshot lawyer, or politician, or something. He had to be. It was what he’d be good at, what he’d thrive in. Dean couldn’t fathom denying his brother that, even if it made him uneasy every time he thought of Sam out of his reach. Dean could move nearer the University, he supposed.

“You’ve got that look,” Sam said, stirring Dean back from his thoughts.

“Eh,” Dean shrugged. “What look?”

“The pensive, worried-big-brother look. You know, the one Gabriel _never_ has?”

Dean thought of the shorter Novak. “Yeah, well, we all know who shoulda been the big brother in that household,” Dean huffed.

Sam chuckled. “It was cool to hang with Cas. Gotta be honest, I wasn’t sure you two could make it out as roommates. You being a total bear and all. Does Cas have to deal with your bright happy face every morning? Or has he learned to hide?”

“Shaddup,” Dean growled. “And trust me, Cas is way worse in the morning than me. That dude has a damn fierce case of the grumps.”

Sam was smiling. “Seriously, Cas could have jetted off to some other state by now, but I guess hanging out with your grouchy ass worked for him.”

“Miracles do happen, Sammy,” Dean said with a cocked brow and sharp smile to his brother.

“I guess they do,” Sam chuckled.

“I’m not completely shitty company, dude,” Dean snorted.

“Mmm,” Sam hummed. “Any girls then?”

Dean looked over, “Girls?”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Yeah, the other types of humans we share the planet with? They tend to have different shapes? Long hair sometimes?”

Dean took his hands off the wheel for a moment to mimic holding melons in front of his chest. “Look like this?”

“God, _Dean_.”

Dean laughed, hands moving back to the wheel.

“Seriously, you seeing anyone?” Sam continued.

“No, I’m not,” Dean answered, slowing down at a crossroad. 

“Really? No women in your life? Not one? No maybe-girlfriends? Dates?”

“What’s with the inquisition?” Dean said.

“What’s with the avoiding? Just curious, you know?” Sam shrugged. “What’s wrong with me asking about my only brother’s love life?”

_Love life?_ God, Sam was reaching for L words. The apocalypse was nigh. Dean felt his dignity shrivel up a little.

“Non-existent, is what whatever it is. Don’t tell me that surprises you?”

Sam shifted in his seat, wiping his long bangs out of his face. “Dunno. I mean, it’s been a while since Lisa, right? Last real girlfriend was her … far as I know.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean rumbled as they approached Bobby’s end of the long road. “So?”

“So, you could probably do with a girlfriend,” Sam said. “Or whatever.”

“I’ll get right on that, Samantha,” Dean said. _Not._

 

* * *

 

Dean thought honking was probably one of those insanely rude things that Cas’ parents would hate. So even though he sat in the Novak’s driveway for ten minutes already, his annoyance at Cas not _sensing_ his appearance gnawing at his mind, he knew he’d eventually have to go get the nerd.

 

The doorbell chimed sweetly, like some kind of bird call. Weird rich people and their fancy friggin’ doorbells.

The door finally opened up after the sound of someones thundering footsteps.

“Dean-o!” Gabriel crowed, opening the door wide, arm swinging open in welcome. “Come to whisk away the flightless bird, have you?”

“Something like that,” Dean groused. “He ready?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Possibly. You’ll have to go drag him out of the kitchen.”

Dean sighed, “What is this? Hostage retrieval?”

“Might as well be,” Gabe chuckled, leading Dean into the dimly-lit house. “Let’s just say Mother Dearest is a bit doe-eyed about seeing her precious child home again. Beware the threats on whether or not you’re feeding the boy. _He’s looking so thin, so pale.”_ The last words were said in a high falsetto.

The kitchen was lit up, like it always had been whenever Dean came round. Within, he found Selene Novak packing up what looked like tupperware after tupperware of meals.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said in greeting, smile tugging at the way Cas sat at the counter, shoulders hunched in annoyance. “Mrs. Novak.”

“Oh,” Cas’ mom said, turning to look at him. “Yes, hello, Dean. How are you? My word, are you taller? Is he taller?” She looked at Gabe. “Surely.”

Dean shrugged, “It’s all the red meat I eat.”

“And the steroids,” Gabe interjected, sliding into a seat beside his brother. There were only two stools, which had Dean imagining the two brothers seamlessly perched there year after year, watching their mother bake and cook for them. Those were probably ‘their’ seats.

“Dean is not on steroids,” Cas said blandly at his mother’s quick glance. “Nor is he into any other illegal substances.”

“I’m way too cheap to do drugs,” Dean added with a laugh. Though maybe joking about drugs and money wasn’t appropriate… hell if he knew.

“Well, it’s still nice to see you,” Selene murmured. “Castiel mentioned you might pop by before you both dashed off again.”

“Oh, here we go,” Gabe sighed dramatically.

“Gabriel Novak, hold your tongue,” his mother snapped.

“Why? You’ve been waiting all day to hand it over.” He looked at Dean, eyes rolling. “She baked you a pie.”

Dean blinked. _Really?_ He turned to look at Cas’ tiny mother. “You baked? A pie? For me?”

“ _For meeee?_ ” Gabriel mimicked him. Dean stared him down coldly. Nobody fucked with free pie.

“Well,” Selene said, calmly snapping the last tupperware shut. “I thought you boys could enjoy some dessert, something homemade. I have nightmares about what college students actually consume, most of which seems to come out of a tin or the microwave.”

“Or out from behind sofa cushions,” Gabe added.

Selene turned to the oven where she seemed to have actually boxed up food for Dean. Amazing. She handed him the plain white box and he couldn’t help but place it on the counter before taking a peek inside.

“Oh man,” he breathed, “That pecan?”

“You bet your tight ass it is,” Gabriel grumbled.

Selene gave her son a _look_.

“Castiel mentioned it was your favourite,” she said, turning back to Dean. “I hope it’s all right.”

“Uh,” Dean blinked at her. God, his chest felt all hot and gooey. “Pretty sure you couldn’t mess up a pie if you tried.” Cas was getting bonus points for this. “You didn’t have to, though.”

“See?” Cas rumbled.

“Never you mind,” Selene snapped a finger. “both of you,” she eyed her sons warily.

Cas slid out of his seat and came round to peek in at the pie too. “Are you ready to go?” he asked, standing to look Dean in the eye, message clear. _Get me out of here before I commit an unforgivable act of violence_. Cas was standing too close again. Dean was used to it, but still, when would the guy learn? Not that Dean was staring at his best friend’s lips, or suddenly, painfully recalling how soft they were that one time…

 

“Okay, then,” Dean closed the pie box. “We should go.” He tried his best to waylay the weird warmth that was peeling up his neck. “Mrs Novak. Thank you. I promise to savour every bite.”

Selene Novak smiled and the resemblance to Cas was uncanny. Or was it the other way round? Dean wondered what Cas’ dad looked like. He’d never met the guy. Whatever.

“You’re very welcome, Dean.” She patted his elbow. “Now be sure to get my boy back to school safely.”

“Yeah, come on,” Dean nudged Cas’ shoulder. “Let’s get you home.”

Something flickered in Selene’s eyes, but was gone in a moment.

“Mother,” Cas said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “I’ll be fine. I’ll call you tomorrow to alleviate your worries about us getting robbed, beaten and stabbed on the horrifying side streets of the big city.”

“Do not joke,” she retorted. “These things happen. All the time, To other children.”

Cas crooked a smirk at her in that adorable manner of his. “We’re not children. I’m twenty-one.”

“Old enough to drink, get laid and go to grown-up jail!” Gabriel pointed out helpfully.

Cas glared at his brother. Dean tried not to grin, that would be in poor taste in front of his roommate’s mother. “Hey, Dean’s a big guy. He’ll protect Cas.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean rolled his eyes.

“I don’t need protecting, Mother,” Cas said calmly.

His mother just folded her arms and hummed disapprovingly.

Cas was insistent then to get them hustled out of the awkward everything that was going down.

After a bunch of hugs and many fretful good-byes, Cas was released back into the world, following Dean down to the Impala. When Cas slid in beside him, the Winchester handed over the pie. “Guard that with your damn life.”

“Dean, I have two bags of tupperware. Where am I supposed to put it?”

“Who gives a flying fuck about spaghetti leftovers? You’re gonna put this little guy,” he pushed Cas’ bags to the floor, “ _right_ here,” he slid the box onto Cas’ lap. “There we go. Safe and sound.”

Cas just made a face at him. “My mother spoils you.”

Dean shoved his key in the ignition, bringing his baby to life. The engine rumbled loudly, obnoxiously into the quiet suburban night.

“Huh, is that what that was? Cool.”

 

—-***—-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. More tomorrow, my treat. Also, hi to those folks who visited me on tumblr: nejineee.tumblr.com


	13. Chapter 13

It was hot. Too hot. Dean was sweating, writhing, kicking at whatever was restraining him.

He could feel hands on his ribs, lips on his cheekbone, soft words, rumbled in his ear.

God, Jesus, he hadn’t been laid in _forever_. _Finally_. He could really get into this, whoever she was. He couldn’t see, could only feel. Everything was super sensitive. His fingertips zinged, his hips shifted. There was a body atop him, grinding into him. Dean moaned and pushed back, feet pressing to the bed, shifting his groin up into that warmth. His hands were holding hips close while warm wet lips lapped at his own, murmuring, adoring him.

It was overwhelming and strange, but so good.

“Dean,” came a voice, rough and soft but deep, so deep, throbbing in his head.

Dean blinked, his vision blurry, a face swimming in front of him.

Uh!” he jerked when he felt fingers press into the front of his underwear, all but wringing a shiver from him–

 

“Uh–” Dean shot awake, hips still thrusting up at nothing. He heaved in a breath, chest inhaling deeply. “Fuck.”

 

His hands came up and he pressed his palms to his temples, eyes staring at the ceiling.

It was exhaustion, had to be. He’d been hauling ass for two weeks down at work. His boss had let him take over a project he’d been all but drooling over, but it had come with loads of overtime. That’s what it was. He’d fallen into bed at like three am last night, so this was the result. Messed up dreams and … well.

Shivers ran through his legs and Dean groaned, still humming from the inside out. God, it really _had_ been too long. He was a mess, apparently.

He shifted. “You have got to be-“ he could feel it, a wetness sticking his pyjama pants to his inner thighs. What was he? Thirteen again? So not fair.

“Ugh,” he threw back the bedsheets that were twisted around his feet and got out of bed, legs awkward as he moved.

“Damnit,” he had a wet splotch, which made his ‘night emission’ even more apparent. Was this punishment for something?

Last thing he needed was to bump into Cas like this.

Dean grabbed some semi-clean clothing before shuffling into the nearby bathroom. A thud from the room next door had him look up. Seemed Cas wasn’t even up yet, as his door was shut. Good.

 

He made hasty work of his shower, glad that the steam obscured his mortified reflection when he got out of the tub. Another thud made him look up. What the hell was that?

“Cas?” he called. No response.

Dean wrapped a towel around his waist. Shit, was Cas reorganizing his damn room again? The guy had a tendency to upheave everything in his room and move it around like a weirdo every three months or so.

“You better not be dismantling your desk, you ass,” Dean grumbled loudly, swinging the bathroom door open. “It took us forever to put it back last time!”

Dean slammed Cas’ door open, expecting to find Cas crouched on the floor with one sock on and a slew of screwdrivers and allen keys littered about him as he forlornly looked over the mess he’d made. Yeah, ok, that is not what was going down.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Dean all but snapped.

He had not expected to find Cas strapped down to his bed in just his boxer briefs and Meg clearly in the middle in some kind of striptease from where she sat on his hips. She was in some kind of fancy lacy bra and really high black tights, t-shirt extended high above her head.

“Dean,” Cas said, eyes wide. He looked a little stricken.

“Oh,” Meg cooed, turning to see who had interrupted what could only be some sort of sexytime shenanigans. “You joining in, or you just gonna leer from the door?” Her slurred speech snapped Dean back to attention. “Not that I’d say not to a bit of that.” She bit her lip and clearly eyed Dean up and down in his towel. She turned to Cas. “Your roommate always bust down your door when you have visitors, Angel?”

“Meg, get off,” Cas hissed. “This is beyond inappropriate.”

Dean was still standing there in shock. He knew he looked like a perv, staring at Meg the way he was, but he knew that the iron gaze was to keep him from _not_ staring at Cas the way he was.

“Jesus,” he breathed. He had to move. _Why_ was he still standing there? “Sorry, sorry.”

He turned and slammed into the doorframe. Wincing, hand on his forehead, he shut the door behind him and stumbled back to his own room.

 

Fuck.

 

Only he had luck like this. Wake up from a wet dream about his own roommate, only to then stumble upon said roommate in the middle of … _whatever_ that was. He felt ill.

 

“Uuuuugh,” Dean fell face-down on his bed. Fuck _fuck_ fuck.

 

So Cas was still banging that chick. Why hadn’t Dean thought of that? Why was it such a fucking surprise?

Why was it so fucking weird? Ugh, Dean’s chest ached.

 

A knock at the door made him jump.

“Shit,” he rolled over and sat up, making sure his towel was still in place. “Uh, yeah?”

The door edged open and Cas’ messy head peeked in.

“Dean?”

Dean smiled wanly. “That’s me.”

“I am sorry you saw that,” Cas said, leaning into the room. “That was … unplanned.”

“Cas, can we not?” Dean rubbed at his face.

“Can we not what?” Cas said with a tilt of his head. Goddamnit, the kid needed more movies, or TV in his life.

“Can we not talk about me seeing you doing the horizontal mambo with that she-devil?”

“Oh, right,” Cas said, biting his lower lip. He blinked at Dean, those blue eyes deep and unreadable.

 

Dean smiled slowly, feeling tiredness sink into his bones. “I got work, so I’ll leave you freaks alone, kay?”

“Oh. No, you don’t need to go,” Cas said, stepping further into the room. God, he was still only wearing boxers. thin black ones that were clingy and– “Meg and I are not … well, I don’t want to.” He cleared his throat.

“Dude,” Dean did his best to not break eye contact. “So you were going to do the nasty? No biggie. Just, uh, lock the door or somethin’.”

Cas looked out the room quickly before closing the door. Dean frowned.

“What’re you-?”

Cas came closer. Dean’s dream came flying back to the fore. 

“Cas?”

“Have a good day at work, Dean,” Cas leaned in and pressed his lips to Dean’s cheek.

 

What the hell? What the fuck? What, what, _what_?

 

Dean sat stock still, shocked, mouth hanging open.

And Cas was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

 

When Dean got home that night, he felt like he’d been run over by a herd of buffalo. Every muscle ached, every movement was a chore.

He trudged into the apartment, noticing that the hall light was on but nothing else.

 

He kicked off his work boots and jacket and made his way to the kitchen. He flicked on the light.

A plate of sugar cookies sat under some wrap with a scribbly note. “Apology treat. - C” A squiggly smiley face also made an appearance.

Dean frowned. Right. He pulled back the plastic and grabbed a cookie. Another note was under the baked goods. Dean nudged it out. It had oily butter stains marring the text.

 

“Made them myself. Enjoy, _Sugar._ ” 

 

Dean’s chewing slowed. That could only be from Meg. Cas didn’t bake, nor did he call Dean ‘sugar’, obviously. Just the thought of Cas making food made Dean want to run to the hospital.

“Gross,” he said to the empty apartment. Suddenly they didn’t taste so good.

He tipped the cookies into the garbage, almost tempted to toss the plate in too, but that would just be melodramatic. So he dropped it in the sink.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day he finally had some time to relax.

He’d spent most of the night tossing and turning, trying to not think about what he’d been dreaming of the night before. What was going on? He’d dreamed about his damn roommate, it had to be Cas. He’d freakin’ jizzed himself thinking of some kind of grind session with another man. Ugh.

Sitting on the sofa with a bowl of cheerios, he chewed fretfully. This was not really okay, not anymore. So he’d macked on Cas, what, so now he was destined to dream about him? 

Then that kiss on the cheek? What was Cas _thinking_?

Surely he wasn’t thinking the same shit as Dean? I mean who did that, while still having sex with some chick? Huh. That sounded dumb, considering Dean was certain he thought about other chicks all the time, even if he was busy hitting on one, he was eyeing another across the room. God, he was such a pig. Then again, Cas wasn’t like anyone else. Maybe he was just being, like, gentle?

That was something Cas would do, right? Soothe Dean after something harrowing? Lord knows Dean had more than enough embarrassing and scar-forming scenes with Cas. The guy had seen Dean at his worst and never said a thing against him. Never judged, never made him feel less for it.

Was this what was going on? Was Cas sorry for him? Thinking Dean was being needy or some shit? That made him want to break everything within reach.

His cheerios were soggy. He deserved soggy cheerios. This was Dean Winchester, undeserving roommate.

 

The front door clacked and Dean almost leapt out of his skin. 

“Dean?” came a familiar deep voice.

“Yeah?” Dean croaked, trying to not choke on his breakfast of champions. Shit shit shit.

Cas appeared, backpack over one shoulder. The dude had probably stayed over at Meg’s. Probably got to sleep beside her, all warm and cozy. This shouldn’t make Dean’s blood boil, but it did and he felt uneasy. This was jealousy, wasn’t it? Or was it envy? Whatever it was, it was burning Dean up inside.

“Hey,” Dean said, both hands gripping his cereal bowl.

Cas looked him over with those piercing eyes of his. The Novak’s hair was neat, for once.

Weird.

“You have the day off?” Cas asked.

“Yup,” Dean said. “Earned enough overtime.”

Cas nodded. He then twisted his backpack around. “I brought us DVDs. Thought you might appreciate watching something?”

Dean crooked a brow. “Really? You rented videos?”

Cas shrugged, tugging his bag open. “The library has a loan policy on certain movies.”

“You were at the library?” Dean sounded skeptical.

“Yes. Anna and I were prepping for our Linguistics presentation. She is more familiar with Greek than I am, so we paired up, as I am able to assist her with the Latin portion.”

“Aren’t they the same?” Dean asked.

Cas looked up and smiled that quirky smile. “Is English the same as French?”

“Hey,” Dean muttered. “Thought Greek was like Latin. Same place, or somethin’.”

“Hmm,” Cas hummed. “Not quite.”

“So you weren’t–“ Dean cut himself off. 

Cas raised both brows in query.

“Nevermind,” Dean continued. _Just feeling jealous, or something._

“Are you all right?” Cas asked, coming to stand nearer.

“Fine!” Dean stood abruptly, almost spilling milk over them both. “Fine. Good. Same. I’mma go put this, uh, in the kitchen.” and he did so.

He busied himself with cleaning his bowl and spoon perhaps a little too vigorously.

His heart was thumping and his fingers were shaking. Shit was so wrong. What was wrong? Why was his brain melting every time he thought of Cas?

Ten minutes later, he’d washed and dried whatever items were close enough for a scrubbing. The toaster was starting to look like it needed a good drowning.

Cas was better at this kind of stuff, surely. Man, Sam was better than Dean at this! Emotional crap? Not good. Dean was feeling sweaty and sick again. Was this normal?

Something touched his elbow and he jumped with a yelp.

“Cas! Jesus! Would you wear clogs or something?” He stepped away from where the Novak was standing, hand still raised.

“So many people tell me I walk too softly,” he murmured. “Perhaps clogs _are_ in order.” He peered at Dean, eyes squinting. “Where does one buy clogs anyway?”

“Do I _look_ like I know?” Dean huffed, trying to cover his surprise. He was skittish. He needed a drink.

Cas had rid himself of his bag, shoes and jacket. Dean tilted his head.

“Hey, is that mine?” He indicated towards the navy blue Nasa shirt Cas was wearing.

Cas stared down, fingers plucking at the hem. “Ah, um. Yes. Apparently so.”

He looked up sheepishly.

Dean rolled his eyes. “You haven’t done laundry, have you?”

“No, that’s not true…” Cas’ eyes flipped aside, as though he were a kid caught covered in mud. Terrible liar.

“Yeah. Ok, I get it. Girl in your bed, fucks up your head. You’re excused.”

Cas eyed him, looked him over.

“No,” Dean raised a finger in warning.

Cas blinked owlishly, “What?”

“We’re not talking about it. Nothing. None of it. Ever.”

“I’m confused which ‘it’ you’re speaking of,” Cas said.

Dean frowned. “Whu?” He leaned against the kitchen counter.

Cas tilted his head, eyes wide and expressive. “Well, are you still talking about me wearing this shirt? Or are you talking about Meg and what happened yesterday?” Dean sighed and folded his arms. “Or are you talking about the kiss?”

Dean swallowed. “How about, uh, all th-three?”

“Dean…” Cas had that look. The c _ome-on-now_ look.

“No, Cas,” Dean pressed. “You don’t ask, you never do.”

“Okay, that is true,” Cas murmured, stepping a little closer. His blue orbs flitted between Dean’s gaze, nose and lips. “I never question you on what you’re thinking or feeling. However, what if I have a question from my side?”

Dean licked his lips. He could just barely smell Cas’ soap. In his dream it had been pretty damn accurate. “Y-yeah?”

“What if I want to ask you to kiss me again?”

Dean almost coughed, or choked or passed out. All options would have made sense at this venture. 

“You miss the ol’ Winchester charm already?” Dean quipped.

Cas smiled. “Curiosity, let’s call it.” He saw Dean’s gaze flick away nervously. “But if it makes you uneasy, Dean, I was just-“

“Oh no you don’t,” Dean bit out, eyes focusing on the Novak again like laser beams. “You don’t get to poke the bear and get no response.”

Cas furrowed his brows adorably. 

“C’mere,” Dean bit out, with a mental _ah fuck it,_ for good measure. He grabbed Cas by the shirt (his shirt) and yanked the other man close, crushing his lips against those warm, soft pink ones he’d been dreaming about. For weeks.

Yeah, honestly, he’d been more than intrigued with Cas and his lips. 

“Mmmf!” Cas got out before Dean managed to lure his tongue out to play. “Dean,” he breathed, lips latching on.

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean inhaled him, lapping, licking, tasting Cas again, like he’d wanted to. It was a fucking thrill, is what it was. A dangerous, leg-thrumming thrill. A growl escaped from between his teeth as he slammed his roommate into the thin kitchen wall, right next to the entryway.

Cas was tall and broader than any chick. It was so new, so exciting, it had Dean reaching up, just like in his dream.

“Dean,” Cas mouthed against him, clearly as involved in this as Dean. His words were slurred against Dean’s lips, teeth. He breathed heavily, lashes fluttering against his tan cheeks. “ _Dean.”_

“Uh-huh,” the Winchester puffed. His hands pressed Cas against the wall. He wanted to press closer, feel more, but was unsure. This was just kissing. Testing. Cas. Yeah. Cas was a safe bet.

“You wanted a kiss, right?” Dean left an inch of space between their lips. Cas blinked.

“I, well, yes,” Cas rumbled.

Dean leaned back. He reached up and mussed a hand through Cas’ hair.

“What are you doing?” Cas asked, leaning away.

Dean leaned in, trapping him with his lips. “Fixing you,” he murmured, voice gravelly.

Cas’ breath hitched and he stared at Dean. God, he was kind of adorable. Very adorable.

 

He wanted to kiss some more. He didn’t want to let anyone else kiss Cas. Cas should only kiss him. 

 

Dean was so damn fucked and he knew it.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean was absolutely convinced beyond all shadow of a doubt that Cas was the best roommate a guy could ever ask for.

 

Dean kept coming home late, kept drinking with his work buddies, kept falling into the apartment on his ass. And Cas, well, he always picked Dean up. Gave him water, guided him to the shower and put him to bed.

Dean kept taking Cas back to the suburbs with him, so Dean could visit Sam and Bobby and so Cas could keep his mother’s hopes alive by not being dead. She always gave them pie, so basically if anything went wrong on a trip, the pie made it all worthwhile.

When Dean bumped into Lisa one day in town, with a friggin’ _kid_ slung on her hip, Cas was there to calm Dean down, to convince him that no, Lisa wasn’t lying, the kid wasn’t Dean’s, the timelines didn’t work. To think that Lisa got knocked up in her first year away, when she was supposed to be getting her vet gig on, training to be a superhero, and had to somehow muddle through with a pregnancy and a baby? That was nuts, to Dean. Motherhood, fatherhood? Lisa was a mom. Dean couldn’t be a dad. Dean was barely out of childhood himself, even if he felt like he was too old for his body. He may have experienced his first panic attack, but was unsure, as he had Cas beside him at the wheel as he white-knuckled it home all the way. He had Cas guide him upstairs and order pizza and keep him sane with a game of poker.

Cas was the fucking best.

He was a terrible cook, a mean-ass grouch in the morning but he was warm and weird and friendly, like family to Dean.

 

And sometimes, when Dean felt like shit, or he felt dejected or he felt the strain of his finances bearing down on him, Cas was there to fucking hold his hand.

 

Seriously.

When Dean got one too many tickets that he forgot to pay and he had to hand over too much money to the damn cops, Cas stood with him in their kitchen and literally took Dean’s hand and just held it, like he was some kid lost in a grocery store.

 

And when Dean took on more shifts at work, put in more energy to making up for that money, Cas brought him late dinners in paper bags and when it finally got cold, he made sure Dean’s scarf and hat were stuffed into his coat before he dashed out of the place like a madman at five am.

It was the little things that Cas sewed into the fabric of Dean’s existence, pulling the thread tighter, cleaning edges, holding Dean together when winter came cold and harsh and their heat went out.

It was blankets on the sofa and hats and gloves indoors.

It was extended stays in the suburbs where their families had fireplaces and hot water.

 

And it was the times when Dean failed at picking up chicks, like he just wasn’t as good as he thought he was.

It was Cas ditching Meg and staying in with Dean to watch stupid Christmas movies and swizzle candy canes in cups of hot chocolate.

 

Cas really was the best, ever.

 

But Dean never told him that. He knew he probably should, but whatever.

 

And Cas let Dean kiss him.

 

Dean got to kiss him whenever he felt like it, which wasn’t often, but when it happened, it was necessary.

When Dean was full of pie, he kissed Cas on the lips, cherry staining his lips.

When Dean was drunk and foolish and handsy, Cas let him kiss him. 

When it was cold out and Cas came in with his ridiculous winter gear, Dean could pull him in by the scarf and just press his warmth into Cas. He would call Cas an idiot and kiss him.

 

Dean didn’t want to think about it, so he avoided it. He just felt this urge, this softness inside him that keened for a kiss, for affection and Cas was there, Cas was willing.

 

It wasn’t often, truth be told, but it was a steadying thing.

Knowing he _could_ , Dean would. He’d once even bid farewell to a lady visitor one morning, her blonde hair barely whipping out the door before Dean sought Cas out and pressed his lips to Cas’ plush pink ones. He couldn’t explain it, or understand it. It was fucked up, it was kind of wrong, but it was Cas. Again, if anyone ever needed an excuse around Dean, they could morph themselves into the younger Novak and Dean would forgive them everything.

 

It was always on the down-low, this kissing thing. Both still slept around. Cas still had whatever the fuck it was with Meg. And Dean still flirted with strange women.

 

It wasn’t remotely romantic, thank god. Dean wouldn’t be able to handle shit like that. He wasn’t gay, God no. He was just affectionate, he figured. With Cas only. Which was going to have to be okay, else Dean would overthink it and burn himself out.

 

At least, it was okay until one night their lack of heat almost drove Dean to madness.

 

“Dean?” Cas mumbled from his unfairly large mass of blankets. It was dark in his room, but it was also some kind of blanket den where the Novak was hoarding his illegal stash of cotton and wool.

 

Dean’s teeth chattered where he stood, arms wrapped around his chest, bare feet (socks in bed? _Ugh._ ) curling in the chill.

“Come on, dude, you don’t have class tomorrow.”

 

The Cas-shaped lump shifted and a head of dark, messy hair appeared. “I don’t understand.” he mumbled sleepily. “What time is it?”

 

“Who cares?” Dean snipped, “Move.”

Cas frowned as Dean kneeled on the edge of his mattress. Dean dug at the covers, pulling them back. “I’m freezing dude. _Share_. Share with me.”

Cas still had a confused look on his features, but he thankfully did move over. Dean almost sighed as he slipped into the warmth of Cas’ nest.

“They have got to fix this shit,” he shivered, drowning himself in the warmth.

“The super says the boiler men are coming tomorrow,” Cas rumbled from somewhere nearby.

“Explain to me again why we live in this shithole building?” Dean muttered, scooting closer to Cas.

“Because we are frugal and barely have enough money combined to afford this charming neighborhood?” Cas answered drily.

“You mean we’re cheap and dirt poor.”

Cas actually chuckled, the bastard.

“Shut up, you’re wasting heat on laughing at me. Think of the ozone.”

“Understood,” Cas said deeply in the dark.

Dean curled up, shivering still. The king-size mattress was one hell of a luxury, even if it had no frame. They’d had many an argument upon moving in, seeing as Dean ended up with a damn twin.

“Dean, no,” Cas growled from somewhere nearby.

“What?” Dean groused, feeling Cas shift.

“Your _feet_ ,” Cas’ face appeared suddenly.

Oh, right. Dean had found Cas’ ankles and they were nice and warm. “These?” he wriggled closer, insteps pressing to Cas’ sharp ankle bone and shin.

“That is unpleasant,” Cas said, face highlighted by the minimal glow of light from the hallway. “You are a nuisance.”

Dean grunted. God, it was so cold. He shivered, trying to bury himself in the bed.

With both their heads poking out of the covers, they could at least get air.

Dean’s teeth chattered and his jaw tensed. “I fucking hate winter.”

Cas sighed audibly. “You’re frozen,” he mumbled softly. 

Hands grabbed at Dean’s hips and pulled.

“Hey,” Dean breathed.

“Hush,” Cas said, pulling Dean closer to his unimaginable heat. God, Cas always burned hot, like a furnace.

“Mmmmm,” Dean groaned, nuzzling into that warmth. Cas even smelled nice. This was okay. He might even survive the night without freezing his balls off.

“Go to sleep, Dean,” Cas rumbled, already under the influence of drowsiness.

Dean barely nodded, his eyelids heavy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

This thing had been going on for months. This weird dance between he and Cas. It wasn’t anything like being with a chick. There were no feelings involved, no end goal, nothing like that. But it _had_ been months. Hell, it was almost Christmas and Dean could remember every single time he’d needed a kiss from his roommate, like some deranged idiot. Thing is, because each kiss was brought on by emotional need, or comfort or just plain old curiosity, Dean figured it wouldn’t change anything.

 

Thing is, you can plan for one thing, but the end result would throw off all intentions and the project would derail. Waking up cuddled with Cas had never been on the agenda. And cuddling would be the _nice_ word for it.

 

Dean unfortunately was awoken by Cas’ hand pressing at his shoulder.

“Muh,” he grumbled, still stuck in a luscious wet dream of skin and tongues and weird languages.

Dean’s hands were clinging to something solid. Sharp bits poked his palms but his thumbs felt softness, like velvet and silk.

“Dean,” a rumble vibrated through Dean’s lips, down to his chest.

“Mmmm,” Dean responded, shifting into more warmth. His cock was responding happily, feeling pressure and heat. His hips only reacted to the needs of said cock, which really, couldn’t be helped, so he nudged closer. Hid breath was wet, heavy as he pressed in …

“Dean, wake up,” now that was definitely Cas. Awesome-smelling, delicious-tasting Cas. Speaking of delicious…

Dean blinked slowly, eyes waxy. He could see Cas beside him, staring at the ceiling. He was so close. Mmm. Dean sluggishly moved forward and kissed that jaw. Damnit, he was aiming for lips. He wanted a kiss. 

“Kiss me, Cas,” he slurred. “I want a kiss.”

Cas turned, wide blue eyes blinking clearly in the morning light.

“Perhaps we sho-“

Dean was annoyed with the sounds. He pushed closer, lifting himself up so he could smash his lips against a matching pair. “When I say kiss-“ he smushed against Cas, “I mean this.”

“I am aware of what you meant,” Cas murmured, blinking, head turning to follow Dean’s lips. Hah, sucker wanted it just as bad. Awesome.

Dean felt the warmth, the coiling burn in his groin. It had been swirling for a while, he could tell. Good thing he had something nice and thick pressing-

“Holy shit,” Dean stopped.

Cas blinked. “As I was trying to say,” he began, “you seem to have been-“

“Don’t,” Dean breathed, heart racing. Fuck. “Just shut up.”

Cas frowned.

Okay, okay, figure out the situation. 

Dean swallowed, not able to look away from those baby blues. “Cas?” he said.

Cas blinked again, something he was an expert at.

“Cas,” Dean repeated, “Be serious with me.”

I’m always serious,” Cas said.

“Dude.” Dean breathed in deeply. “Have I been dry humping you all night?”

His current bedmate watched him, looking him over like Dean was a skittish animal.

“Not all night, no,” Cas answered calmly.

Dean was keenly aware of the way his traitorous legs were now tangled with his roommates’.

“Jesus,” Dean said. “I-uh-well, uh, hormones?” He smiled weakly.

“I will take whatever excuse makes you comfortable,” Cas said.

“Sorry, dude,” Dean sighed, pulling away. It was kinda sweaty and hot now anyway. “Guy hogs your bed and covers, then humps you. Great night, huh? Roight up there with the best. _God._ ”

Cas sighed. “I understand, Dean. I am well aware of the male need for sexual outlet, even in sleep.”

“O _kay_ ,” Dean sat up and curled away smoothly. “enough of that pillow talk. I’m just gonna go whack one off in the shower?” It was meant as a joke, but sounded like a question. “Good. Cool. Bye.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” Cas murmured, settling back into his own damn warm bed. “Though the details are unexpected.”

“Uuuuugh, just let me die of embarrassment,” Dean groaned, stumbling out of the bedroom.

When he slammed the bathroom door shut, he hoped Cas didn’t believe that he really _was_ going to masturbate like a psycho-fiend. He also tried to convince himself that what his thigh had felt as it moved off Cas had definitely not been anything remotely like a freakin’ erection. Nope. No way. Not thinking about the fact that even though he had been blindly grinding up against his buddy, Cas hadn’t been completely immune.

 

Nope, not thinking about Cas hard. About Cas being so calm about it all. About Cas even having a dick.

Dean looked down. “Really?” he questioned his own guilty dick. “You making friends, little buddy?”

His ‘little buddy’ just seemed to want to throb a bit.

 

“Goddamnit,” he pulled back the shower curtain. Looks like he had to reacquaint himself with his hand.

 

—-***—-


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late! So late! Sorry.

**Dean: Age 21/22 -  Sam: Age 17/18**

* * *

 

 

Everything seemed okay. To Dean, nothing really felt amiss, not for a while anyway.

He counted himself lucky he had a nifty big cabinet in his head that was stuffed with more than enough bad vibes, repressed memories and stupid junk he didn’t want to deal with. So the whole ‘thing’ with Cas got halfway jammed into a lopsided drawer in the cabinet of Dean’s broken friggin’ mind. Thing is, the cabinet was pretty damn full already. So the Cas thing was kinda hanging out, competing for space with Dean’s angst-ridden self annihilation, flopping out of the drawer like a wayward sock.

It shouldn’t have been a problem, but then again, it really, really was already.

 

Christmas and New Year came and went. Dean’s twenty-second birthday was one for the books. What a week that was. Cas and Dean went about their lives as roommates as always. If it got cold, Dean remained resolutely in his own bed. Winter pushed on, eventually petering out into the newly wet spring. Dean and Cas traveled back and forth a lot, mostly to keep tabs on Sammy. If Cas nodded off in the passenger seat on their way home from the suburbs, head falling to Dean’s shoulder, Dean didn’t bitch about it. He just let it all go.

 

But the kissing thing? This business with tongues and lips and teeth? This was starting to grate at Dean’s conscience. Why, he couldn’t say. Sure, most dudes weren’t mackin’ on their male roommates, and yeah, Dean wasn’t like, _telling_ people he and Cas locked lips once in a while. God, Sam’s _face_ if he knew! This was just, you know, their thing. Their weird, awkward, secret stupid thing.

 

If Dean thought it was funny to mess Sam about when the younger Winchester talked about girls in his class, then Dean knew he’d set himself up for unending ridicule with this Cas deal. No one could fucking know. It was fun in his head, but outside? Ridiculous and weird and fucked up.

 

Thing is, Dean tried to hold off on it, thinking how fucking mortified he’d be if someone caught them. So he’d attempted to not seek out Cas when he wanted to make out. Dean tried analyzing _why_ he and Cas were even locking lips, for fuck’s sake. Who did shit like that? Weirdoes, that’s who. He began to note a pattern. If Dean struck out with a chick at a bar, he came looking for Cas. If he’d been drinking and was a complete sloppy mess, he wanted to hold Cas’ face and kiss him stupid. If he had an argument with someone, anyone, he wanted to kiss Cas. Fucking lame, but obvious, wasn’t it? Dean was a giant bag of wuss who needed kisses for his boo-boos. Blech. 

Fine. Dean could alter his behaviour. Every action has a damn consequence, which is why the thought of pretending nothing ever happened, wasn’t an option. Dean made his damn choices, so he couldn’t hide from them. He would just have to make better choices. Uncomplicated ones. He would go out later with the guys, make sure they left after closing time, made sure he got home way too late, so Cas was already asleep in his locked room. If he got into any scraps with people, Dean would take a long drive. His baby made everything better anyhow. And with the chicks? Well, it’s not like Dean struck out _all_ the time. His batting average was pretty damn high, as he’d come to learn. You get told it often enough and at a very high frequency and you start to believe people when they call you ‘hot’ over and over again. So Dean would just make sure he flirted with the right chicks, the ones who maybe wanted the attention. Not that he had much time for women in general, but if the opportunity arose, who was he to back down?

He was prepared.

So no more Cas kissy-face, no more weird weak moments.

 

“Hey,” Dean blinked as he exited his bedroom. Cas was flipping through his own wallet, seemingly counting cash. The other boy looked up.

“Yes, Dean?” Cas rumbled, blinking quizzically as he always did.

“I gotta head out. Jack’s off sick, so the main boss says I can sub in for him.”

“Okay,” Cas nodded.

Dean shrugged on his jacket while looking for his boots.

“You going to get groceries is my real question,” Dean muttered, annoyed that his left sock wasn’t cooperating as he jammed his foot into his boot. 

“Yes,” Cas answered, “Meg and I were planning to pick up stuff after my meeting with Anna. Is there something specific you need?”

Dean stood up and blinked. “Yeah, uh, I would get them myself but I ain’t got the time. We ran out of cereal and milk and toothpaste. I’ll pay you back.” Dean tapped the toe of one boot against the parquet flooring. “All-bran, if they have it.”

Cas smiled at him.

“What?” Dean asked, eyebrows rising. “You need cash?”

“No, I have enough,” Cas held up a small wad of bills. I’m amused that you want All-bran.”

Dean frowned. “Hey, you can get whatever you want, man. I thought you liked All-bran?”

“I have no preference,” Cas shrugged. He smiled at Dean again, “How about I buy Froot Loops instead?”

Dean blinked. Huh. “Yeah, uh, sure, whatever’s fine.” he grumbled, trying to avoid blushing. Why was this so friggin’ embarrassing? So he liked Froot Loops, big deal. So what if Cas knew he wasn’t above eating utter garbage for breakfast? So _what_?

Cas actually snickered, the bastard. Dean pushed past him to get into the kitchen and grab his hat. He pulled the navy baseball cap on tight, patting his jean pockets. Keys, wallet, check.

“I’ll probably be home late,” Dean murmured, pulling out his little flip phone. No messages. Sam would probably text later tonight. He slipped it into his jacket pocket.

Dean headed for the door, distracted. If he rushed, he could make it just in time. Jack’s assignment was pretty big and Dean was eager to sub in one something this cool.

“All right,” Cas murmured, eyeing his own damn cellphone, coming to stand in front of the Winchester. He leaned up as Dean paused, then turned and pressed a soft kiss to Dean’s jaw, right beside his lips. “Have fun at work.” and then he was walking by, humming distractedly.

 

Dean felt like he’d gotten socked in the gut.

It was like every sweat gland on the surface of his body decided to rebel and make him all squinchy and hot and _goddamnit_ his chest was pounding.

He didn’t say anything (mostly ‘cos his mouth was broken) so he just opted to leave, quick as fucking possible. The front door slammed behind him and the dirty, teal-carpeted hallway of their dingy building seemed narrow and tight and dry and the lights were _bright_. He opened up the stairwell door, the echoing screech that resonated through the concrete cavern zinging through Dean’s skull. Every step down felt like a heartbeat. His legs were wobbly, his knees uncooperative.

_The fuck, man? What the fuck?_

Here he was trying to be good, trying to sort out this weird-ass kissy-face mess he and Cas had gotten themselves into. Dean was being _good_. He was. He wasn’t gay and Cas wasn’t some kind of friggin’ boyfriend, or some shit, so they shouldn’t be all touchy feel and whatever. So Dean was _not_ licking his roommate all over, nor was he thinking about the complications of every past transgression between them and how each moment reflected on Dean and his messed up sense of friendship. 

And then fucking _Castiel-_ bloody-Novak goes and fucks shit up like he always does. Goes and gives Dean a damn peck and tells him to ‘ _Have fun at work’_ like his main concern is Dean’s well-being, Dean’s fucking happiness, that Dean has to have a pleasant day.

It was shit like this that threw Dean for a loop. It was clearly like nothing for the Novak. God, did that whole family kiss each other good-bye like the Brady bunch? Probably. He could see Mrs Novak kissing each of her boys before they hopped off to school, backpacks full of hopes, dreams and PB & J sandwiches. He could see them sitting at breakfast together, chatting. Mr Novak would be reading the paper, Gabe would be wolfing down his eggs and toast and Cas, being the baby, would wait patiently for his mom to cut the crusts off his own toast so he could dip the toasty soldiers in a boiled egg sitting in one of those fancy fuckin’ ceramic egg-holder things.

 

FUCK, he was losing his mind.

 

When Dean finally made it to his car, he threw himself bodily into the front seat, sliding across the smooth leather bench. It was late afternoon and people were quietly milling about, not caring for one second about the crazed-looking young man having an identity crisis in his ’76 Impala.

 

Dean swallowed. Fuck Cas. Why’d he have to be like that? 

Screwing shit up for Dean, or just making Dean squirm.

 

What the _fuck_?

 

* * *

 

 

The whole concept of their friendship had put Dean on edge. It was nigh impossible to not stare at Cas’ lips, like, all the time. Panic would flood Dean every time they passed one another to the bathroom or kitchen. 

And to make matters worse, Cas had decided that it was appropriate, once more, for Meg to visit him at the apartment, something that Dean wholly disagreed with.

 

“This is my home too, Dean,” Cas murmured as he unpacked a fresh pack of toilet paper. “And I’m free to bring guests over.”

“Yeah, but like, _decent_ guests,” Dean snarled, grabbing a pile of toilet rolls and heading to the laundry closet with them. From the hallway, he heard Cas respond.

“Meg is decent,” Cas said calmly. “More decent than most, I think.”

“I don’t like her attitude,” Dean grumbled, reentering the kitchen.

Cas just cocked a brow scornfully. “Do you recall my reaction to your work friends and their disgusting habits?”

“Hey,” Dean griped, “I busted their chops for that, you know that!”

Dean’s work buddies weren’t the most, ah, savoury of characters.

“My point, Dean,” Cas continued, “I didn’t hassle your friends when they came over. I’d like it if you didn’t hassle mine.”

He sounded so prim and proper, it made Dean’s teeth grate.

“I don’t hassle Charlie. Invite Charlie.”

Cas pursed his lips. “No, Dean.”

“But Meg’s a fucking bitch!” and Goddamnit, Dean could _hear_ the whine in his tone.

Cas looked at him. “I do not appreciate that language, when concerning my friends.”

“Hey, it’s reserved for her,” Dean bit back, rolling plastic bags into a ball. He jammed them under the sink. “Besides, she fucking hates me too.”

“No, she does not,” Cas sighed. “If anything, I believe she likes you a fair amount. You could be good friends.”

“There’s a difference between want to fuck my brains out and wanting to be my friend, Cas,” Dean snorted. He grabbed up the other stray plastic bags. “I bet you a million bucks she wants one thing from me and not the other. No offence. Your girlfriend and all.” He closed the sink cupboard after dispatching the last of the bags. Then Dean stood tall.

Cas was eyeing him. Staring, more accurately.

“You believe Meg is attracted to you yet does not see you as friendship material?” It was a question.

Dean shrugged. He sounded so arrogant sometimes, but the truth kinda sucked. “Hey, I don’t want anything to do with her. But yeah, your girl’s always makin’ eyes at me. Don’t tell me you can’t tell even by her stupid-ass comments? Jesus, I mean, last time she was here she kept telling me to bend over some more.”

Cas tilted his head. “I did not notice,” he murmured.

Ordinarily, Dean would feel like a piece of trash for even hinting that a buddy’s girl was checking him out, but this was _Meg_ for fuck’s sake. She was as delicate as a sledgehammer. Plus if she and Cas parted ways, it’d be no skin off Dean’s teeth.

Having a buddy’s girl flirt with him was always super awkward for Dean. Not this way, though. Meg was nasty and crass and when she’d been drinking she was even worse. She thought she was such hot shit.

And the way she treated Cas? Ugh. Not that it wasn’t clear she adored the Novak. Clearly she did, but she was just so … opposite to Cas. Where he was clear and concise, she was snappish and rude. Where he was conscientious and orderly, she was arrogant and a complete mess.

 

The one time Sam had met her, earlier in the year, Dean had almost wanted to tear his eyes out when the friggin’ sasquatch compared her to Dean of all people.

“I dunno, Dean,” Sam had sniggered, “Seems Cas has a type, you know?”

“I am not in any way, shape or form, like that fucking harpy,” Dean had snapped back.

 

That was then, this is now. And now meant Meg was gonna be hanging around for the better part of the night, which meant Dean was definitely not staying in.

“I think you and she would get along,” Cas seemed to be saying, as Dean looked for his keys under the mess of groceries and schoolbooks littering their kitchen table.

“I wholeheartedly disagree, dude,” Dean sighed. He glanced around the mess. Cas’ exams were coming up again. Great. He turned and eyed Cas. “I’m gonna go see Sam.” He pointed a finger at his roommate, then wiggled it around. “Don’t fuck on the table,” he added.

Cas frowned. “Dean…”

“I’m serious!” Dean crowed as he exited the room. “Remember the rules, dude!”

 

He grabbed his jacket on the way out. Sure, he could joke about this shit, but just thinking about Cas and Meg fooling around … ugh, made him queasy. She made him queasy.

 

When he was finally ready, he yanked open their front door, only to find the bane of his existence standing there, fist raised as if to knock.

“Ugh,” Dean rolled his eyes.

Meg smiled, “Hello to you too,” she drawled. “Long time no see.”

Dean took a step back and waved her in.

“Cas! Skankzilla’s here!”

“Dean!” Cas’ head popped out of the kitchen with a scowl.

“Enjoy the dirty sex,” Dean retorted with a wave. “Enjoy barfing into a bag after.”

Meg eyed him, “Enjoy a lifetime of disappointment,” she said sharply.

Dean glared down at her, this petite chick. She actually glared back, all pretense gone.

The two of them stared each other down. 

This was new.

“Fuck you,” Dean hissed softly before pushing past her and slamming the door behind him.

 

\- _Later that evening_ -

 

“I dunno, Sammy,” Dean grumbled from Bobby’s sofa. “What’s wrong with The Cowboys? Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ a little Texan sometimes.”

He chomped on some popcorn Sam had cooked up. Bobby was in the kitchen doing taxes or some shit. The old coot was in a grouchy mood, which left the boys to loiter in the living room.

“You don’t even like football, Dean,” Sam said, slumping onto the floor near Dean. The nerd had been working on some massive school project. Looked like freakin’ latin to Dean when he’d first dropped by, claiming he needed freedom from the shackles of Cas’ terrible life choices.

“Well, ain’t no harm in watching some,” Dean groused.

Sam just shook his head as he leaned over the massive poster board. “Sorry, I have to finish this, Dean. It’s worth half my grade.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean slung his legs onto the sofa, socked toes wiggling against the armrest. “You go, mister A-plus superstar. Doin’ better than I ever did in school, you know.” 

Sam laughed. “I should hope so. You were never in class.”

“Hey, I graduated,” Dean retorted. “Barely.”

Dean remembered skipping the whole graduation ceremony thing. No biggie. Not when he had more important shit, like work, to do.

“Hey, aren’t you graduating soon?” Dean blinked, suddenly realizing what part of the year they were in. Sam’s birthday had blown by, making the monster kid _eighteen,_ which was nuts. Sam had his driver’s license and everything at this point, which made Dean suddenly feel really damn old.

“How’s Cas doing?” Sam said, head bent over his work.

“Cas?” Dean frowned. “He’s fine. Don’t change the subject.”

Sam sighed audibly and even if Dean couldn’t see the kid’s face, he could still imagine the rolled eyes.

“He didn’t come visit,” Sam said. “He normally does.”

“Eh,” Dean slouched into the couch cushions. “He’s with a chick. Gotta leave him be. Guy rules, you know?”

Sam looked up and turned his head. “A girl?” he smiled. “Is it Meg?”

Dean scowled. “Shut it. When’s your graduation, you little shit.”

“Language, boy,” Bobby’s voice echoed from the kitchen.

Sam grinned. “Yeah, Dean. Language.”

Dean ignored them. He eyed his little brother, feeling suddenly at odds. Why was Sam avoiding the question?

“You failing?” Dean asked suddenly. “Your classes, I mean? You think you’re not graduatin’ or something?”

Sam blinked. “What? No, Dean. Jeez, my report’s been great.”

Dean skewered him with a look. “Then why the hell are you dodging my damn question?”

Sam’s eyes flicked about the room. “Uh, well, no reason, really.”

“You don’t want me to go to your graduation?” Dean asked.

“What? No, Dean, what the hell?” Sam actually seemed more bothered by that than Dean himself. No, it’s coming up soon. Next month. It’s no big deal. Sheesh.”

Something was up, though. The air was kind of awkward. Dean could read Sam better than anyone else on this planet.

“Well, then what’s the problem?” Dean said, voice rising.

“Nothing,” Sam said softly, looking back down at his work.

“Nothing _my ass_ ,” Dean said.

“God!” Sam threw up his hands. He stood up, long legs unfolding. “I’m thirsty. Gonna get a drink.”

“Hey!” Dean squirmed about on the sofa, watching Sam amble into the kitchen. “Hey!”

He scrambled off the sofa and followed Sam.

Bobby looked up from the table, glasses perched on the end of his nose like some kind of fifties accountant.

“What’s your problem, Sammy?” Dean snapped, hands going to his hips.

Sam slammed the fridge, coke in hand. “Nothing, Dean!” He turned, throwing his arms wide. “Jeez, what is _your_ problem?”

“Your attitude could do with an adjustment,” Dean bit out, feeling his anger rise for no damn reason. “I didn’t do anything, you ass. I just asked about school. What the fuck’s got you so damn riled? I run over your damn cat?”

Sam scowled at him from across the room.

“ _What?_ ” Dean boomed.

“Nothing,” Sam answered.

Bobby held up his hand, silencing them. He looked over at Sam, brows raised.

Sam and he had some kind of weird silent argument with their eyes before Bobby sighed. “Sam, you gotta tell him.”

The younger Winchester kind of slumped a little.

“Tell me what?” Dean asked, perturbed by the feeling in the room.

“Sam’s applied to University,” Bobby said. “Got his responses and all. Early.”

Dean blinked. _Oooh!_ That made sense. “Shit, Sammy! I forgot! Fuck. I was gonna help, wasn’t I?”

Sam kind of looked at the can in his hand, fingers scratching at the tab. “Yeah, no biggie.”

“So?” Dean opened his hands in query. “What? Grades not good enough? You got rejected? Really? K.U.? _Really?_ Thought you were aces for getting in there?”

He looked at Bobby for confirmation. The older man just made a weird, uncomfortable face.

Sam kind of bit his lip, then looked up. “I got accepted to K.U., Dean.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Dude! That’s awesome!” Lord knows he’d been waiting for this forever. Sammy was gonna do what the other Winchesters hadn’t: go to friggin’ college! “Awesome!”

Sam nodded slowly, “Uh, yeah. But, um, you know, I applied to other places. Other colleges, just in case, you know? Cover my bases and all.”

“Sure, sure,” Dean waved his hand easily. “I get that. Whatever.”

“ _Sam_ ,” Bobby said meaningfully. He stood up, laying his glasses on the stack of papers on the table before going to the sink to rinse his glass out. When he turned back, he eyed Sam again. “Go on, boy.”

Dean frowned. Oh hell, what now?

He cocked a quizzical brow at his younger brother. Lord knows Dean has, like, zero understanding of how the whole college application gig went down. Was this considered early for responses? Sam hadn’t exactly graduated, had he? Were early grades accepted? Fuck if Dean knew.

“I, uh, I got a scholarship. A full scholarship,” Sam murmured.

Dean blinked, then his eyes went wide. “WHAT? Holy shit, REALLY?”

Dean’s heart thudded in sudden unexpected excitement. He’d saved up a fair fucking amount for Sam’s education. Hell, Dean made sure Sam knew this so the kid didn’t avoid a tertiary education thinking it wasn’t possible. So hell if Dean hadn’t even thought of the damn scholarship process. “That’s amazing, dude! A full ride?” Dean came up to Sam and clapped him on the arm before pulling him in for a hug. Jesus, the kid was big now, but still, big brother hug!

Dean stepped back, beaming. He’d never been more proud in his entire life. Holy shit. Sammy was gonna do it! He was gonna go to college, become some kick-ass lawyer, or whatever, and it wasn’t gonna kill them financially, cos Sam was a fucking _genius_!

“God, that is awesome, Sammy,” Dean smiled.

Except, Sam wasn’t smiling back. If anything, he looked kind of pale, kind of stricken.

Dean’s heart paused. “What’s wrong, dude?”

Shit, did Sammy not wanna go? Well, that would … be okay? Dean would have to think, but yeah, okay.

“No, um, Dean, see, thing is…” Sam bit his lip, then wiped at his mouth.

“Oh hell, get on with it!” Bobby said sharply. “You gotta be proud boy. Tell him!”

Sam kinda swallowed, eyes flicking to Dean, then  away.

Dean’s stomach felt leaden, his Sam-ometer bleeping loudly in his head.

“I got a full scholarship,” Sam breathed, “to Stanford. Not K.U.”

 

Dean blinked. Dean breathed.

 

He felt the cotton of Sam’s shirt, still covering the shoulder Dean’s hand was resting on.

No one said a word as Dean processed.

“Stanford?” he breathed out, eyes flitting between Sam’s hazel ones. “You mean, Stanford, _California?_ ”

Sam nodded.

 

Shit.

No.

 

“Sammy, you gotta be kidding,” Dean said, voice squeaky. “Seriously man, don’t mess with me.” Dean wanted to laugh, wanted to hear the humour in the situation.

Because this, if this was real? This was fucking not happening. Sam had not just told him he was going to go to college in fucking _California_ , on the other side of the godforsaken country, about as far as he could get, minus hawaii.

Dean’s skin felt clammy.

 

“Dean,” Sam said softly. “I’m going to Stanford. I’ve already decided.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D: 
> 
> I know, right?


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's decided to go to Stanford and Dean has some decisions to make.

The door shut with an audible click behind Dean. He was done. He was exhausted.

He stood silently in the hallway, staring at the parquet flooring, eyes unfocused.

It was late, probably. He wasn’t too sure.  He could hear soft murmuring, sounds. Cas’ rumble. Probably realizing he was home.

Cas’ bedroom door opened, bleeding lamplight from the pathetic bulb Cas kept beside his bed. 

Dean blinked. Huh, it had been more than one voice.

“Dean?” Cas said, coming closer, his grey sweats heavy on his hips, his dirty, paint-encrusted t-shirt baggy and completely ill-fitting. Dean blinked when Meg appeared behind Cas. God, was she staying _over_?

Dean scowled, remembering himself. He pushed past Cas, immediately making a beeline for his bedroom.

“Still in a huff, huh?” was all he heard from Meg as he slammed his bedroom door shut.

 

* * *

 

 

Cas probably figured something was wrong. Even within the first hour of Dean crawling out from his room the next morning, the Novak’s gaze was careful, wary.

But he didn’t pry, didn’t push. Probably could see Dean’s seams steaming, waiting to just explode like an overcooked dumpling.

 

It wasn’t until dinnertime that Cas dared to tread on unsettled ground.

“I brought home burgers,” he mumbled through Dean’s bedroom door. After a long silence. “And extra onions?” he tacked on carefully.

When Dean peeked out, his stomach rumbled at the familiar burger joint bags. He pushed his arm through the gap, hand open.

Cas pulled the food away, “You’ll have to come out and eat,” he said, like he was luring a cat into a carrier. God, it grated at Dean. He wasn’t a kitten, for fuck’s sake.

Dean scowled then slammed his door.

He heard Cas’ sigh. “I’ll be in the kitchen,” he muttered through the hollow wood. 

Dean glared at his room. He glared at the deflated mattress with it’s faded sheets and dumpy pillows. He stared at the stack of car and girlie mags he used as a basic table to balance his morning coffee on. He scowled at the bare walls, the scuffed baseboards and thin curtains with a deep-seated sense of … nothingness. 

Then his stomach gurgled angrily.

“Fine,” he groused, turning back so as to yank the door open again. He stomped into the kitchen, fully intent on dash-grabbing his share of dinner. Fuck Cas and his stupid rules.

But when he got to the kitchen, he was confronted with Cas’ typical attentive stare, blinking blue eyes and face full of juicy burger. Damn idiot had obviously just gone out specifically to Dean’s favourite burger joint (which wasn’t even remotely close) to clearly make a point in easing Dean’s mood. Damnit.

“Sam’s leaving,” Dean said, voice hoarse.

Cas blinked, then swallowed. 

“For school,” Dean clarified, feeling the stone-like lump lodged in his throat. “He says … he says he’s going to Stanford.” Dean cleared his throat. “Fucking _Stanford_ ,” he hissed.

Cas just watched as Dean slumped into one of their rickety chairs and ripped open his burger’s wrapper.

When Dean looked up, mouth full of meaty goodness, Cas was doing the unblinking Novak thing. “Ish Shucks,” Dean growled through his mouthful.

Cas was good enough to wait out Dean’s hunger. He was then patient and quiet as Dean expelled all his fears and worries and woes about Sam choosing a life outside of Kansas, a life away from Dean. Cas sat quietly and listened, like he always did. He let Dean have his selfish moment, claiming that he’d saved money for KU, goddamnit. Didn’t Sam even have the decency to stick to this plan that Dean had mapped out years ago? Couldn’t Sam just see things Dean’s way?

And when Dean was done ranting, he was gifted with that ever-intelligent gaze of his best friend. The gaze that said nothing and everything all at once. 

 

“I’m such a bastard,” Dean breathed, covering his face with his hands. 

 

———

 

The weeks dragged by as spring tried its best to brighten the world around them. Dean was surly at best and it stretched on. He barely went home and only complained to Cas when Bobby called to give him an earful. 

This whole situation was making Dean sick. He was tense and on-edge all the time. He wasn’t happy. This was so wrong, it physically pained him all day, every day.

Poor Cas, unfortunately, bore the brunt of his frustrations. Sometimes it involved Dean yelling about the dishes in the sink and sulking on the sofa. On other occasions, Cas would wake up to a Dean-shaped lump shoving under his blankets, trying to not wake Cas, but craving the company, hiding from the world. Dean didn’t talk about those nights. If anything, he seemed even more surly as a side-effect. Cas was at a loss. He’d talked himself dry, trying to coerce Dean to sit down and talk to Sam, talk to someone. He spoke about solutions and ‘meeting people halfway’, but Dean wasn’t Dean if he weren’t belligerent.

It was the middle of summer when Sam’s graduation actually rolled round. After multiple delays and other stupid school issues, the seniors at Lawrence High were graduating.

Cas and Bobby had read Dean the riot act about showing up. Sure, he and Sam were talking again, but it was weird. Sammy wasn’t supposed to be growing up.

And it was when he was sitting in the local music hall’s auditorium, squeezed in beside Bobby and Cas, that Dean saw how much of a messed up asshole he’d really become.

Sam was up there on stage in that dorky-ass cap and too-short gown (like a freakin’ nun, or somethin’) and principal jerkwad (who had never been a fan of Dean) was giving a speech and saying things about how Sam was amazing, and ‘destined for great things’ and a ‘true leader’ and other stuff. Sam was being given prize for being the-best-damn-student-ever. Highest grade average in his class, full scholarship to one of the best universities in the country and there was Dean feeling like shit about it all while his baby brother pretty much _beamed_ up there on stage.

 

Dean’s heart fell out of his chest when he saw how happy Sam was. Bobby was practically a furnace beside him, the pride just bursting from him unchecked. Fuck. The guilt hit Dean like a load of buckshot. He was being petty. Sam was set. Sam was aiming high, reaching for his own brand of happiness and success and Dean was being a dick about it. Damnit, he was proud of Sam! Why was it so hard to let go of what _he_ had wanted for his brother?

 

Dean sighed, looking down into his lap. Cas and Bobby had wrestled him into a suit for this. 

Maybe he should re-evaluate exactly what he _should_ be doing rather than what he wanted to do?

 

* * *

 

 

Once you know you’ve let go a part of your own plans, like having your brother close-by forever, you kind of have to rejig the whole plan ahead.

 

Sam was beyond ecstatic when Dean apologized and said he’d help figure the shit out, for Sam.

 

Things like finances seemed weird to talk about now. So Dean had all this money saved up. Sam refused to take it, even for housing, cos he knew his scholarship covered more than enough. And Bobby had that money he’d kept aside. Insisted Dean make use of what he could. 

“You can aim high too, y’know?” Bobby said one day in the late summer. “It ain’t just Sam who’s got a wide world out there for him.”

 

And that had Dean chewing his lips, thinking, fretting. He would have to learn to let go. But a seed had been planted. Maybe Dean could change his plans. With the extra cash he was okay. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t keep it for Sam _just in case_ , but maybe making better use of it wouldn’t be too awful…

Thing is, once Dean was faced with actual _options_ , he kinda went big. There was one … one that he was constantly drawn too, but it felt ridiculous. It felt radical.

Cas had finished up his own semester with far less fanfare than Sam. He needed Dean’s help to cart his paintings and books back home, back to the suburbs.

So while Cas pondered on his classes for the next year, Dean planned.

The moment he realized exactly how serious he was about his possible-decision, was the moment Cas came wandering into their apartment one afternoon. 

He was thumbing through their mail as usual. “I bumped into the super downstairs,” Cas said, frowning at the pizza coupons in his hand. He looked up at Dean, who was chopping onions on the stove with a wobbly wooden board, the countertops covered in his cooking paraphernalia. 

“Oh yeah?” Dean answered, careful with the shitty paring knife in his hand.

“Our lease is up for renewal,” Cas murmured before scooting past Dean to throw the leftover mail into the trash under the sink.

Dean swallowed, hand almost pausing. “Huh. Already?”

Cas hummed. Dean scraped the onions off the cutting board into a waiting pan. He turned away, sliding the board into the sink. Cas caught his eye. The Novak was wearing some kind of unicorn t-shirt and baggy cargo shorts that looked way beyond their best-before date. With his wild, untrimmed hair, Cas looked like a damn vagrant, even if he’d shaved that morning. 

But his feet were bare, which was kind of cute.

“Yes,” Cas nodded. “He said we’re on a month-to-month basis for now, but he’d definitely like us to stay another year.” At Dean’s quiet blinking, Cas tilted his head. “Unless you’d rather not stay? I know the rat problem in the basement bothers you. Charlie mentioned that her new building has lots of openings.”

“Ugh, the rats,” Dean shuddered, “don't remind me.”

Cas nodded, “I realize the rent might be weighing on your mind, Dean. If it’s not good, we can figure it out. Or we can get another roommate?”

Dean chewed his lip. He then shrugged and grinned. “I dunno. Let’s see how it goes, huh? Don’t wanna be forever shackled to this place just yet.” Cas blinked. Dean leaned over and patted his arm. “We got a while to see.”

 

Dean felt like a fucking fraud. With his wide grin and easy tone, Cas could be forgiven for not tuning into the sheer anxiety bubbling underneath the surface.

 

* * *

 

 

“Yup, just leaving now,” Dean said into his phone. He listened to Sam’s excited babble a moment longer before finishing with, “Be ready when I get there, fatass.” and he snapped his phone shut, slipping it into his jeans pocket. He looked around him.

It was done. Dean was done. He felt like, well, like he’d just swum ashore during a fucking thunderstorm in the middle of December. His heart was beating erratically, knowing full well this weird uneasiness was caused by the adrenaline, the choice, the decision.

 

Why had it even been such a fucking tough choice? Why had he even wasted a moment on reconsidering it? It was clearly, _clearly_ , the best fucking option out there. Fuck everything if he didn’t even have the balls to do what he knew he had to do.

 

“Dean?” Cas said, surprising the Winchester. 

“Shit,” Dean cursed from inside his now mostly bare room. Cas wasn’t supposed to be home til later. Fuck.

“Dean,” Cas continued, voice slow, careful. “Why are your bags in the hallway? You’re blocking the door.”

Dean wiped at his face, backpack slung over his shoulder. Fuck. He hadn’t wanted to do this. 

He walked out into the hallway, making sure his bedroom door slipped shut behind him. God, he hadn’t thought this part through at all.

“Uh, hey,” he said, coming to find Cas staring down at the array of old and busted bags that Dean owned littering the floor. Truth be told, if he could fit everything in five bags, he really didn’t have much to start with, did he?

 

Cas looked up and blinked, taking in the backpack as well. 

“Dean?” Cas tilted his head. _Shit_.

“Hey, um,” Dean said unevenly, “So, uh, I made a decision. You know, like you suggested. Sort of. Um, well, maybe not one we were talking about, but the best one, I think.”

Dean avoided Cas’ gaze awkwardly. This was fucking difficult.

 

“About Sam?” Cas asked.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, bending to hoist a couple extra bags onto his shoulder. “So, uh, I’m driving him.”

Cas’ brows shot up. “To California? Really?”

Dean swallowed, “Duh, to California.”

Cas eyed him and Dean knew that careful gaze was sweeping over his every feature. _Come on, man. At least look the guy in the eye!_

So Dean looked up.

“That’s very kind of you, Dean,” Cas murmured. “though I doubt you’ll need every _single_ possession you have. You’ll hardly have space in the Impala for Sam’s stuff.”

Dean stared at Cas, mapping his face. He felt his chest tighten, uneasiness swelling inside his belly. He’d been a fucking coward thinking he could just avoid this. Fuck, he’d been trying to avoid this _because_ he knew it was gonna damn well suck, obviously!

How the hell do you tell your best friend and roommate that you’re basically dropping everything and leaving? How do you tell him you’ve decided to change your life’s course? Decided to fuck off to the other side of the country? How do you drop everything, including him?

Except that’s why it was hard. Because this was Cas. And Dean, well, Dean didn’t even have to tell Cas. When those wide blue eye settled on his own green ones, Dean could see the dawning realization shadow them from the inside out. He could see the way the cogs clicked into place, slowed a little, creaked against one another as Cas noted the bags, the extra hoodies under Dean’s jacket. He’d notice the missing toothbrush and grey towel, the spotlessly clean living room which came courtesy of Dean’s guilt. He’d eventually open up the now ‘second bedroom’ and find just a bare mattress on the floor, a closet emptied, array of folded clothes packed away, _stuffed_ away into bags; bags that were dangling from Dean’s stiff shoulders.

This was why it was eating Dean alive. He’d made more than one decision and _Goddamnit_ , Cas was going to get hurt.

Dean was a bastard, he knew. He was selfish and crude and belligerent, but he was also unrepentant in the face of Cas’ wide eyes and shocked demeanour. He was doing this for Sam. And somewhat for himself, but mostly for _Sam._ Cas couldn’t really be surprised, could he? That Dean was this gluttonous, this vain about his own brother’s happiness and safety.

“I can’t let him go by himself,” Dean whispered, voice cracking. “I can’t, Cas.”

“But-“ Cas breathed, panic finally setting in. His eyes widened, shining, pale. “But I can help. Dean, you don’t have to leave. I mean, you should certainly take him there. Get Sam settled, but-“

“No, dude, you don’t get it,” Dean said, trying to hold back the hurt. His voice was dry, firm. “I’m not letting Sam go alone. I’m going with him.” _Don’t act so shocked,_ he wanted to add. 

“He’s not a child, Dean,” Cas said, leaning forward. 

“I know that!” Dean snapped. 

 

Cas pulled away. 

“But I’m not letting him go, Cas,” Dean rumbled, brows cross, dark. “Sammy is everything, okay? He needs me.”

“I understand-“ Cas breathed. 

“No,” Dean said sharply, standing straighter. “You fucking don’t. You _don’t_ get it, Cas. You-you, _Jesus_ , just listen, okay? I’m going. Just, just packed my shit. We’ll be gone in the morning.”

 

“And you weren’t going to tell me?” Cas said sharply. “you were just going to go, with no good-bye, no word, nothing? Dean, I know you’ve been busy and stressed and worried but-“

Dean should have let Cas speak, probably should have _breathed_ before continuing, but when did a Winchester ever know the right thing to do?

“Okay listen.” He blurted angrily, cutting Cas off. “This isn’t real, dude. We were fine as friends, you know? We were good. We were awesome. And now it’s all fucked up and weird and I just,” he took a deep breath, “I don’t see you like that, okay? It’s just not me, it’s fucked up, okay?”

 

Cas just stared. 

 "You avoided the lease renewal," he said softly. "Weeks ago I asked and you dodged me. So ... you've been thinking about this ..."

“You think this is fucking normal? You think this weird-ass arrangement is what I want? It’s not. It never was.” Dean huffed heavily. 

“We don’t have to-“ Cas said.

“No.” Dean blurted. “I’m fucking done. I made a mistake, okay?”

And there it was, the sentence he’d never meant to say because he _knew_ , just knew how much it would hurt. He’d pulled it out like some some sick sleight if hand, waiting for the last second to use it.

Cas’ eyes were round, his brows furrowed, his expression lost. Dean’s chest ached.

“I-“ Cas began before looking down and stepping back, away from Dean. “I understand.”

Dean told himself he was okay. Even when he’d shoved the last bags into the Impala’s trunk and slammed the door. Even after he’d pushed his key into the super’s mailbox, he felt he’d done the right thing. Not the _best_ thing, but the right one. That distinction made his hands settle. He needed to be there for Sam. Priorities. 

Even when he looked up, immediately locating their window, the one that fed light to the shitty living room, Dean knew Cas wasn’t there.

 

* * *

 

 

“The ganache is much better this time, Gabriel,” Selene Novak murmured, licking the chocolate residue off her fingertip.

 

“Better?” Gabriel gasped, “Oh Mother Dearest, it is not better. It is the B-E-S-T. I’m the best, basically is where I’m going with this. Me.”

Selene couldn’t help chuckling at her eldest son’s smirk. She always wondered how far Gabriel’s charm could go before he got himself in trouble. Even after twenty-three years, her son still surprised her with his ability to not only bake up a storm in the middle of the night, but to sometimes also get law enforcement involved. She sighed. This was her lot in life, wasn’t it? 

There was a loud bang and clattering coming from the foyer. Both Novaks looked up.

“Are you expecting someone?” Selene asked, unamused. “It is far too late for your friends, Gabriel.”

Her son merely rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mom, I just hand out keys to our front door to strangers so they can come visit and slash our throats at night.”

Oh. Of course, that was the _door_ , not the doorbell, which meant it wasn’t someone strange at all.

“Your father’s not due back until the end of the week,” Selene said, hurriedly wiping her hands on a cloth. 

Gabriel followed his mother as the two of them headed out of the kitchen and into the dimly lit house.

“O-ho!” Gabriel crowed, “Baby bird’s come for a visit!”

Selene lit up when she saw her youngest son standing in the foyer, bags hanging over his shoulder and a pillow jammed under an arm.

“Castiel!” she lit up. “You should have called ahead!” She came closer, always happy to see him.

“Yo, what up, bro?” Gabriel added. “What’s with all the crap? Not more paintings of sad middle-aged men, is it?”

“Gabriel!” Selene hissed. She turned to her youngest son, taking in his appearance. He looked tired.

Gabriel leaned over to look through the front door’s glass panel. “Hey, where’s Aladdin and his magic carpet? No pie for him!”

Castiel dumped his bags on the floor and looked up. 

Selene’s heart fluttered. Castiel’s eyes were hollow, sad. Something was wrong with her baby.

“I took the bus,” Castiel murmured.

“What?” Gabriel squawked. “ _Rude_. Why?”

Cas looked down. “I’m done. I don’t want to go back.”

Selene leaned in close, hands going to her son’s shoulders. He was much taller than her, but he was still her baby. “Go back? To school? What happened?”

Castiel shrugged, not looking up. “Dean’s gone,” he said, voice dry, soft.

Selene frowned and looked at Gabriel.

“Wait, what?” Gabriel came up to them. He eyed Castiel warily. “You mean with the squirt? Sam just texted me, like, a week ago. To Cali? _What?_ ”

Gabriel seemed confused. “You’ve been in that apartment this whole week _by yourself?_ Dude, why didn’t you call? _”_

 

Castiel nodded. He looked up then and Selene could feel her heart shattering at the look on her blue-eyed boy’s face. His lips quivered but he pulled them into a taut line. As he blinked, she saw he was trying to not let the tears form. “He’s gone. He just left. He-“ Castiel took a deep breath but couldn’t finish his sentence, face and heart melting before her.

“ _Shit,_ ” Gabriel hissed quietly. This was unexpected to say the least. Selene Novak wasn’t one for poking her nose in other people’s business, but her son’s business was her own. She’d seen it over the years. She’d suspected and she’d wondered. Castiel had always been quiet, had always been sweet. He’d been shy to the point of anguish, but so very smart. What was it about that Dean Winchester? The young man who made her son shine like the sun? Who genuinely seemed to care for Castiel the way a friend should? Who Castiel would ask her to bake pies for _‘just in case he came to visit’_.

 

“Oh, Castiel,” Selene whispered, bringing her arms up to wrap around Castiel’s neck. “My poor baby.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D: I made myself sad.
> 
> This was the toughest chapter to write. I think I revised it around eight times because it was just so upsetting!


End file.
